


Transfusion

by Der_Katze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Character Study, Cold, Confined Space, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Freezing, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Last Day On Earth, Locked In, M/M, Slow Burn, Songfic, The End, Vampire Dean, Vampire Dean Winchester, Vampires, Wincest - Freeform, big brother instinct, one night, vampire!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Der_Katze/pseuds/Der_Katze
Summary: What if Vampire!Dean's Story wouldn't have ended with the Cure in "Live Free or Twihard"?The capturing of Sam and Dean by vampires throws the both of them onto a crossroad, where thruths have to be told, that they never thought would see the light of day ... or the neon light of a cooling chamber for blood preservation.(Canon divergence for Soulless!Sam. He does have his soul in this story.)Edit of the German version of "Transfusion".





	1. And it's happening ...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icanseenow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanseenow/gifts).



> This story should have been a one-shot experiment, started during a writing retreat with fellow fanfiction writers.  
> The 3-word-prompt was given through drawing a pairing (Vampire!Dean/Sam - which was really fortunate for me :-), a location (Freezer) and the task to write an explicit sex scene.

°

 

 

 

**T - R - A - N - S - F - U - S - I - O - N**

by Der_Katze

 

 

  
Song: Nine Inch Nails - Me I'm not  
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVMO2rTy2Sc>  
  
Lyrics: <https://genius.com/Nine-inch-nails-me-im-not-lyrics>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**And it's happening ...**

_Never planned on this_

 

 

The shower is still running when Sam hangs up after talking to Samuel about the cure. The fall of the water sounds very regular.

Carefully he opens the bathroom door. Steam swells towards him and into the hotel room. The "O" of "The Nite Owl" neon sign flickers through the foggy bathroom window - on/off-on/off-on/off - like a mad red moon, reflected in the tiles of the dark and much too quiet bathroom.

Dean hadn't turned on the light. Probably to spare his much too sensitive eyes the strain.

"Dean?" No answer. "Deeeeean!" He guardedly approaches the shower curtain. Even before he reaches it, he knows that the showers empty. Not just because the streaming water sounds far too monotonous, but because he can't feel Dean.

With a jerk he pulls the slightly moldy curtain to the side. The neon sign now throws its broken, red light directly onto the falling drops of water and it looks like the shower is raining blood in a secret rhythm.

He hates this flicker. Here in this minus 3-star hotel, nobody seemed to care about anything. That's why they checked into the hotel in the first place. Unfortunately, also nobody cares if someone climbs out of the bathroom window on the 2nd floor at 3 am in the morning and clambers down the fire escape.

Shame burns in Sams face and intestines, beside the fear for Dean. Samuel would skin him with words for that rookie mistake. First he hadn't been able to prevent Dean's transformation and not even afterwards he is able to take care of his brother, the vampire. A shiver runs down his back.

Dean is gone, because he didn't dare to follow this new, darkly attractive Dean into the bathroom. This new Dean, who has been staring at him so intensively over the last hour, with these strange, familiar eyes, as if secretly listening to his heartbeats, his breath and his forbidden thoughts, trying to decode them and read the buried thruth in his heart.

Lucifer had deciphered it. He had been the first to figure out Sam's secret. A secret he hadn't even admitted to himself then.

But now Dean is gone and he has a completely different problem.

  
  
_You got something I need_  
_Kind of dangerous_

 

Sam follows his own steps over the last hour.

After the wiry haired vampire had smeared his blood onto Dean's lips, his brother had looked at him with a helpless intensity, knowing it was over.

Then he had broken eye contact and basically fled down the dark alley towards the car. Without a word, Dean had thrown the car keys towards him.

The drive back to "The Nite Owl"-Hotel had felt eternal due to the tense silence in the car. Dean just had pressed himself against the door of the passenger seat with his eyes closed, as if Sam was contagious. Or toxic.

All of a sudden, the atmosphere in the car had changed and Dean was so close, he could feel the breath of his brother ricochet on his throat. He swallowed, Dean mirrowing the reflex and Sam`s  skin is crawling with anticipation. The closeness to Dean pulsates in his nerves like a live wire. In an instant, Dean is gone again. 

Glancing over to Dean, he detects Dean's lingering gaze, eating him up with a laser focus. Dean is licking his lips and Sam grips the steering wheel in response, forcefully trying to pull his eyes away. Only the headlights of an oncoming car pull him out of his spell.

Back in the “Nite Owl”-Hotel, Sam had switched on the small bedside lamp and Dean hissed like an animal. With one quick movement the light and alarm clock are on the floor, the bulb splintered into a thousand razor sharp fragments.

"Too bright. Too loud.” He sounded nearly apologetic through his snarl, but it was hard to tell from the pained, dark look on Dean`s face.

Dean`s movements are unfamiliar - too fast, too smooth. They are out of sync with each other. Again and again Dean appears near to him, but in a fraction of a second, Dean`s gone again, hovering at the other end of the room as if Sam were a magnet that alternately attracts and repels him.

Finally Dean flits over to the sideboard and pours himself a whisky. The habitual sight of it wrenches a sigh of relief out of Sam, but after the first sip Dean shakes himself like a wet dog and spits violently into the sink.

"Fucking Hell!” Pissed off, Dean wipes his mouth. Dried vampire blood on his lips mixing with the whisky leaves traces over half his face.

"Shower!" Dean sheds his jeans jacket and thoughtlessly Sam takes a step towards him. “Like a drooling dog presented a bone”.

The idea of Dean standing in the shower, water pelting down his brother's beautiful maltreated body, blows his fuses - just like it happens with beautiful regularity ever since he's back from hell.

_What you want from me?_

_I'm not used to this._

Dean zips right in front of him, standing steady in his personal space, one eyebrow mockingly raised. Another shiver is raiding through Sam.

"Well, Sammy ... do you wanna come along?" There is a flash of white teeth and Sam flinches away, only then realizing they're not fangs. 

Dean raises his hands soothingly. "Hey, it's okay, kid. Nice blush you have going there."

Fuck! Sam bites his lower lip, just shy of splitting it.

He probably shouldn't let Dean out of his sight - not for a moment – but he can not follow Dean into that bathroom. And he couldn`t even say whom of the both of them he trusts less in this situation.

For the first time in his long life as a hunter, Sam understands why vampires are considered dark seducers. Dean's gaze drills into his as if he wants to eat him and damn it, if Dean looks at him like that, he'd let him.

"Jerk," he says quickly, and a relieved rush of blood loosens his tense heart as he hears Dean's teasing "Bitch".

“Go shower. Meanwhile I call Samuel. Maybe he has an idea."

Dean had nodded - a normal "Go ahead. Everything will be fine"-Big-Brother-nod.

 

 _And it's hard to see_  
_what I'm capable of._

  
_And it's hard to believe-just_  
_what I've become._

Sam turns the water off and pushes the window down, which is still a crack open. He doesn't need to check whether he's right about his assumption. Dean`s gone..

The light of the neon tubes pierces his eyes, burning on the retina, creating a green afterimage when the red light goes out for two seconds.

Its flickering pulses are flowing through his iris directly into his tense nerve cords. Involuntarily, he counts as if it is - on/off on/off on/off - a secret morse signal that could tell him where Dean has fled to.

 

  _And I'm losing control_ ...

 

 

°

*


	2. A secret I've kept locked away

  
[Linkin Park - Easier to run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFSL_29RMp4)  
  
  
[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Linkin-park-easier-to-run-lyrics)

 

**_A secret I've kept locked away_**   
_(no one can ever see)_

 

 

_It's easier to run_

  
  
Another dark alley. Actually Dean really has had enough of these tonight, but a voice is whispering in his head, luring him in, dark as the magic bound to vampires.

He's not completely sure who the voice belongs to, but the attraction feels like – Master!!! It is more than devotion, it is like a navel cord reeling him in – luring him home - and he is fighting it helplessly. He hadn't thought it would be so ... fucking enticing on the other side of being seductive.  

For the first time in his life he has compassion for these damn creatures of the night he had been hunting for years. The urge seizes him, floods all rational thoughts, washes away the feeling of "It can not be. It never can …”

 _If I could change, I would take back the pain._  
_I would retrace every wrong move that I made._  
  
_If I could stand up and take the blame, I would._  
_If I could take all the shame to the grave, I would._

The thought of Sam sneaks back on quiet paws and ... his body wants to, has to drink – rip and suck and drain. There is an explosion in his mouth. It doesn’t hurt as his new set of teeth cracks again through his gum, surging another dizzying wave of dark, red blood lust.

_Mhmmm. Mhmmm._

His cell phone hums twice in his jacket pocket and Dean's undead heart begins to race. He didn't expect to feel it all. A text message from Sam.

 

 

> Dean, damn it, where are you?  
>  Samuel says he has a cure for you.  
>  He'll be here tomorrow morning.  
>  But you must not drink – at all!!!  
>  Absolutely not. Do you understand?  
>  We need the blood of the vampire who transformed you.  
>  Come back and let me help.
> 
> Sam

The words, the thought of Sam, of his smell only fuels his appetite. He wants to hunt, conquer! Desire shoots like a bullet through his veins. And it is not just the blood – it is more carnal than he can ever admit to himself.

As a human being he has felt no sexual desire for the last year – didn’t wanted any one. No need for skin and sweat and sex.

Only one or two weeks ago, Sam had asked him if everything was okay with him, when he threw a bill with the phone number of the waitress scribbled on it away. His brother had put his forehead in these particularly worry wrinkles, reserved only for him, and almost reproachfully pointed to the trash can. He had just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, "Wasn't in the mood!”  

He didn't wanted to talk. Hell was not a good smalltalk topic, didn’t matter if it would be about Sam's time or his. It had taken him soo long to confide to Sam how long his Holiday in Hell had really been. What he had done there  ... 

But then Sam had jumped right in - with one of the most vicious enemies imaginable – custom-made, just for his brother. And he had stayed behind, a drunken shell trapped in his own cage of helplessness, in Lisa's and Ben's little beautiful house and everyday life.

_Just washing it aside  
All of the helplessness inside_

Lisa had been great - more of a quiet therapist. They made people fall for the couple shtick and most of them did.

He had been able to replace the whisky with beer, smalltalk with neighbours, even get a job after 3 months, he faked everything very nicely - except ... Hey, Dean “Womanizer” Winchester, hadn't had sex all year during Sam's time in Hell! Not only had it been a kind of impotence, but it was as if all his life energy had been petrified. He had hardly felt anything, just played “life”.

Lisa had been really understanding. But it had simply not worked. Every time her hands had slipped deeper in a hug, every time a gentle caress had become more passionate, a kiss of farewell on the cheek one on the mouth, he had frozen - every time.

He had been dead inside. More dead than right now.

 _It's easier to run_  
_Replacing this pain with something numb_  
_It's so much easier to go_  
_Than face all this pain here all alone_

This year, those 387 days without Sam – had been a hell of its own. The real Death would have been so much easier.

In daydreams while at work, he devised plans to free Sam. Or at least change places with his brother. Once he had almost stapled a colleague's arm to a beam with an automatic nail iron. After that he had been more careful with his excursions out of reality.

Then - a month after the anniversary of Sam's fall - Castiel had finally found a way to rescue Sam from this unmentionable cage. It had not only been Sam's rebirth - a wall precariously trying to block the traumas - but also Dean`s.

And, of course, he had lied to Sam about what he secretly called his "year of stone”.

 _Something has been taken from deep inside of me_  
_A secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see_

After that Deans dreams changed. In the beginning, Sam would appear in his head only at night: warm and breathing and vital in his arms. Next, his sleeping mind conjured up images of skin and lips gliding against each other.  Then those even mixed in during day time, when he was looking at Sam sleeping in the passenger seat or when they were flipping through the channels lazily lounging about on a ratty motel couch, Sams warmth radiating from his skin, seeping through the thin cotton of Dean’s Shirt ...

And now this.

_Wounds so deep they never show,  
they never go away_

‘Oh, Sammy, if you knew,' he thinks, and he's glad Sam doesn't. He can't! Sam's smell - Dean can not even let himself know. It's more than this new lust for human blood. Sam smells ...  simply forbidden.

His brother's smell has always been a central part of his life – from the soft, and sometimes stinky, baby to sweaty teenager to musky broad-shouldered sasquatch. Sam smells like security, conversant and intimate in such a strong way he can only tolerate on his brother without ditching the person.

Sam is … home.  

_Like moving pictures in my head,  
for years and years they've played_

A few weeks ago, holding Sam in his arms again for the first time after a year of his own personal hell, Sam had just held him tight. Dean had pulled Sam into a hug as if he wanted to imprint every bone of his brother in his own, pressed his face tight to his chest, trying to contain the shivers trembling through him, just breathing in and out - Sammy! – through the fear that he would wake up and Sam's return would turn out to be a perfidious nightmare.

But now the vampire poison has crept in, unfolding new senses, blowing up any barrier or boundary he securely had bolted into place.

The secret lives in Sam's scent, which numbs his defenses. Earlier in the car, the calling had become so loud, ringing through every cell of his being. The four miles back to the hotel had been cruel, in a seductive way. Trying not to pull Sam towards him to lick and bite ... it had cost him all the control John had ever drilled into him. And - he had become afraid of himself.

Sam's attraction is as black as the Impala's varnish, red as the blood they shed side by side in the fights against the monsters and everything they have ever battled, and of the indefinable color of Sam`s hair. Dirty golden retriever brown?

After the ride with Sam in the Impala, after twenty minutes with him together in the closed quarters of their hotel room, Dean had realized he’s not gonna manage to control this new pumping desire for blood and his abnormal needs at the same time. Dean wanted to jump Sam, feel every muscle in his brother's body, get lost in his smell.

The longing for Sam becomes so piercing that his legs simply turn before he can order them to continue towards the nest, these awful teeth breaking through again.

The first time they had felt like barbwire in his mouth. Threatening and strange. Now there is only desire. The need to sink them into the tense, soft skin over Sam's carotid artery until he ...

He flinches, wiping his hand over his forehead expecting sweat, but there is only stone cold skin.

“No! Not ever,” he swears to himself. He would never expose another person to this - to the undead death. He better ends it himself ...

But he can't, because he can never lose Sam again. Never again.

He forces back the vampire teeth, finally seeming to get the hang of some things in this hurricane of new.

Focus on the mission! He needs the blood of his master. He needs the cure.

He turns back to the decayed old building. It must have been beautiful once, but now it just seems abandoned and dark, only the glow inside of him confirming: this is the retreat of his master, home of his - his! - Nest.

Dean can sense the vampire energy in it as if he could see through the walls with a thermal imaging camera. The voice in his head keeps whispering, calling him. With every step towards the nest Dean can feel the presence of that curly vampire singing stronger through every fiber in his body.

At the same time, Dean calms down more with every step towards the run-down building. He follows the call as in this one fairy tale the children follow the bread crumbs - only that it goes deeper, a covenant written in blood and dark magic.  

 

 

~ * ~


	3. I pulled off your wings

*

 

 

 

Warning: power play, non-con

 

 

Song: Deftones - Change

[Original Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEl-OTD5wNU)

[Acoustic Version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pn6mhzEUNo)

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Deftones-change-in-the-house-of-flies-lyrics)

 

 

 

**_I pulled of your wings_ **

_(In the House of Lies)_

 

 

 

 

He hesitantly opens the inconspicuous door and curses inwardly over its clichéd rusty creak. But it doesn't really matter. He can smell him - them, feels their presence deep in his veins, just like he is sure, they feel his.

The most overwhelming one is the Master. A hot desire, that feels strange, but that undoubtedly wants to be satisfied.

Attentively he climbs up the empty stair case and finds himself at the entrance to a huge hall. A large clock is set into one wall. The whole set-up reminds him of a counter hall in a bank. Only, that there never have been cages in the ones he visited.

His heart is rabbiting in his rib cage as he enters the hall. Fuck. Dead give away. His eyes scan the room for escape possibilities as he hesitantly hovers at the door frame.

A presence behind him like a breath of fire on his neck. "It's nice that you came, handsome.” A nonchalant, deep voice. “I was already afraid, that this gigantic hunter did actually get you. Sorry for abandoning you, son.” There is no regret in the guy’s voice at all.

“He smelled so incredibly desperate." The Master sounds a little amused even. Dean hears the unspoken question. He doesn't dare to turn around, afraid of the power the guy has over him. A cold hand at his neck, fingers stroking over the little hair at his nape – tenderly. It does not feel displeasing, which makes it even more creepy. Dean shivers, aversion mixing with lust for more, even if he couldn't say what more would be.

 _I took you home_  
_set you on the glass_  
_I pulled off your wings._  
_Then I laughed._

"By the way, I am Boris," the guy whispers from behind into his ear. One of Boris' wild curls tickles his cheek and Dean whirls around and right into a flashback.

He feels again how the vampire's blood has entered his circulation, smearing his over his lips. The taste of metal mixed with earth and ash exploding in his mouth, an overwhelming power, ancient and raw. It choked him and he wanted to spit out the dark iron taste, but when it reached his throat, the feeling changed and he wanted more, more, more ...

Another jerky movement in his jaw. Carefully he lets his tongue glide over the new teeth, which have broken through again with the sense memory.

The guy in front of him is ridiculous, looks as if he would have to comb his hair with a rake in the morning, the gray-black curls almost like steel. He's surprised that despite the almost invincible attraction, he can have these critical thoughts about his master. His Master! These words just shouldn't belong together.

Fucking hippie! A hippie who has a gallon of baby blood for breakfast at midnight.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how wacky the guy looks, the vampire's attraction compared to Sam’s is simply dark, dark, dark - deep black and blood red. Fear and lust in perfect balance, so that Dean has to surrender to his Master as a willing slave.

The helplessness makes him dizzy. He hates it and at the same time he feels free – maybe for the first time ever. How can it be so tempting not to have to do everything yourself? To obey instead of having to make all this little decisions on your own? Taking charge? It could actually be nice to have someone who does all this for you. Dad would turn in his grave, if he had one. 

‘Get a hold!!!’ Dean scolds himself. 'You're Dean Fucking Winchester.'

Slowly Boris - his Master – sneaks around him, snugging at his shoulders like a cat, finally stopping in front of him, standing much too close.

Dean switches on his patented Bad-Ass-smile with a hint of shy boy looking down and it doesn't miss its effect.

The guy grins back - a shark in a hippie robe - and leans in even closer. Dean turns down the wattage of his smile a few degrees, but that doesn't seem to bother the guy. His hips are now softly touching Dean’s thighs as he puts an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

"Well, my pretty one." The guy looks him deep in the eyes, hypnotizes him through this fucking tie between them, which is now amped up to full power, buzzing in him like a damn high voltage line.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Dean's throat is dry, much too dry and he needs something to drink – something warm and red and viscous.

"Have you lost your tongue?" The guy's eyes sparkle. "Zep ..." Stunned Dean realizes he can't lie. "My name is D.," he finally chokes out.

"Okay, D." The guy nods contentedly. "And - how do you like it?" The guy bends over, even further into his personal space, so close that he can feel Boris’ breath on his clavicle. His hunter’s instincts flare up and his fingers itch for the feeling of a machete in his hand, the setback when he cuts flesh and sinews and bones with one blow.

But he must not fight. Not yet. He still needs the blood of this Boris.

He feels the presence of the other vampires around him, some incarcerated in the cages, but not all, assessing eyes lingering on him, checking him out. He does not know his new powers well enough. He must surprise Boris in another way.

A hand on his arm, provocatively brushing over the fabric of his denim jacket and he wants to retreat from this monster. Yet, his skin prickles and his knees go weak, blood pulsating through his undead body. He feels more alive than he ever was in his life.

With his new senses he can see, smell and feel every molecule around him. Everything is connected.

He would like to ask Cas, if this is how he perceives the world. But Cas is not here. It is better. He does not want the angel to see him like that.  

"It is powerful, isn't it?” The guy lets his big paw wander up Dean's arm. Everything in him screams for his Master, every synapse burns with a desire that feels wrong, but unavoidable and he is afraid that he will give in, fall for the call of blood and the undercurrent of dark seduction.

 _And I watched a change in you_  
_It's like you never had wings._  
_Now you feel alive._

"Do you have any idea how good you smell?", purrs his Master and drives his mouth along Dean's neck, pulls his sharp teeth over the skin without breaking it, but leaving a trace of fire. His detestation blows up in smoke.

A whisper. "Hungry?" It is not a question.

Irritated Dean notices how his blood flows faster, he wants more of this guy on a level he doesn't understand, can't understand, because it has nothing to do with rational thinking.

"Is it still very weird?" The guy now sounds almost caring. Or can he read his thoughts? Dean tries to shut down everything, the desire, the worry, the anger. The plan.

Boris’ look becomes fervent. Quizzical eyes penetrate him.

‘Damn it, Dean, pull it together,' he rebukes himself mentally. He sounds like Dad. ‘Just a test. It’s just a test. It’s okay. You got this.’ He falls back on the smile again, observes the shark’s returning grin. The fingers of the vampire gliding over his neck, stopping at the collar of his shirt.

Vampires! A shiver runs over the skin of his undead arms and he is happy about this familiar emotion, although he himself is now such a monster. The greatest possible punishment - to become like the creatures he has hunted. No. Nothing! He has absolutely nothing in common with this pack.

Longingly Boris looks at his neck and Dean's muscles convulse at the premonition of the guy biting him. His eyes flutter close and he shivers torn between the mixed feeling of lust and resentment. The images raging through him are hard and explicit and Dean is not sure, if this is his imagination or Boris can implant some kind of telepathy in his children.

A new torrent of longing for his Master’s approval, of wanting to give in to the bond makes him dizzy.

How can he feel so much for this fucking master? Besides the hot desire, there is also something that promises him warmth, protection like ... family?

But with almost the same power it repels him. Sam is his family. And Bobby. And Cas. He'll never be part of any other team than this one. Because family doesn't end with blood. But it doesn't start with it either.

Damn, he must not break. He just needs a little blood from this guy and then Samuel's hocus-pocus cure will put an end to this. If it's true. He doesn't trust this sudden Campbell family reunion - even if it's his grandfather. He is suspicious.

And so is his Master. That's exactly why he has to play his role convincingly. Nobody here can doubt his genuine vampire intentions. Dean, the newly turned, dying – literally - to get human blood between his lips.

He must hang onto the obsession for his creator, the lust for fresh blood. To anchor himself, he reaches for the hot madness in him about this manipulation, his hatred for the monsters and his longing for Sam, using it like a lifeline.

He checks the cages, sees hungrily gleaming eyes, one vampire licks his lips and Dean inconspicuously checks for emergency exits.

A strong grip on the collar of his jacket, loosening, gliding along the buttons of his shirt, approaching the lower hem, almost within reach of the waistband of his jeans, the zipper and yes, he is hard, but that has nothing to do with this fucking guy, who is much too close and smells of everything he hated 24 hours ago and now craves to an extend, that he feels he will die, if he is not getting it. And he actually might …

Boris verges upon neck again. "Come on, D. I want to feed you," he whispers and Dean can only nod, following the order in a trance. "I'll take you to our treasure chamber, handsome." The guy grabs him at the nape and directs him into a side wing, down a dark staircase.

In front of him, Boris opens the heavy door of a walk-in refrigerator. On the walls are glass showcases in which blood bags hangs under bright neon light luring him inside. Everything is stylishly arranged, as if this was a museum. Or a three-star restaurant.

A kick in his back and a bang. The door falls shut behind him with a full smack, that only big sturdy doors can produce. The unmistakable turning of a key in the lock.

Dean turns around, but where Boris stood a moment ago, there is now only solid steel. A little shutter opens inside the door. "You should have told us," growls the guy through it. It's not the cold in this converted cooling chamber that errects the hairs on Dean's arms. "Winchester!” The guy spits the word through the hatch, then slams it shut and it sounds like forever. Or until he breaks down, sucking on the blood. Its siren smell penetrates his nostrils, enters every cell, leaving him not with thirst or greed or hunger, but pure and brutal animalism.

He hits his head against the steel door. He has to die in front of these hectoliters of blood. He can. One of the few times he is grateful to John Winchester that he has engraved self-sacrification into his skull, chiseled "unyielding" into his skin, which he turned into his own version of being just fucking stubborn.

 

 _I look at the cross_  
_Then I look away_  
_Give you the gun_  
_Blow me away_

 

*****

 

It's like Alice in Wonderland. Each one of the plastic containers with dark red gold seems to say "Drink me!” 

In the end he ties himself to a pipe in the corner with one of the thin transfusion tubes. Of course, the bondage is an illusion. Nothing will hinder him, if he wants …

A squeak in the lock. He forces his attention away from the blood that has been calling his name for fucking two hours now. He doesn't even have to loosen the knot to break the plastic tube with a powerful movement. He stretches his muscles, pulls and with a "Zing" the overstretched rubber snaps back and the bond falls off as if he is the Hulk. In a second, he is ready to fight. Against whomever.

One last fight, one fight to the death. Lights out and good-bye. And if he should survive it, then ... then he will have to find a way to finally off himself.

He closes his eyes for a split second, surprised by how much he still loves his fucked up life. Tired. He was often so tired - tired of life. But now, right now, it’s the thing he doesn’t want to actually let go of.

Not before he has seen Sam one last time, said goodbye to his brother. Goodbye! See you in heaven or in hell! It is not clear. The thought of Sam is like a stab to his heart.

The door is thrown open, someone stumbles through it and his body reacts, triggered by decades of training, even if his head is still with Sam.

A big body flies right in front of his feet.

 

 

 

  
~ * ~  


 

  
*


	4. Army’s down to defeat

°

 

UNKLE - Looking for the rain

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5Mj0afuATI)

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Unkle-looking-for-the-rain-annotated)

 

 

_**Army’s down to defeat** _

/Seeking shelter before the storm\

 

 

 

Caught like a friggin rabbit. By trying to fix his first mistake he had now ended up really fucked. From the frying pan into the fire - Winchester everyday life.

His head is droning as if someone has misused his skull as a bell. Polar air seeping slowly under his clothes, seeping into his bones, only his forehead throbs hot. He carefully opens one eye. Bright neon light bursts in and he gasps, taking time to adjust to the phosphorent glare.

Instinctively Sam rolls over onto his knees, trying to stagger onto his feet, but he is still too shaky. He fumbles at the pain in his left temple. Warm and slippery, a familiar feeling. When he looks at his fingers, they are full of blood. Shit. Head wounds always bleed the most. He grabs his shirt by the hem and tears out a strip, ties it so tightly over his head that it compresses the wound. It helps with the pain as well, though the neon light is still to bright, piercing his eyes.

The fight with the vampire and his nest will leave some bruises. He doesn't understand, why they haven't just killed him? Or maybe they have. He looks at the solid door. The thermostat next to it says "-4".

He breathes in, slowly exhales. His breath leaves his mouth in dense white clouds. The air entering his lungs feels like little icicle shards. It still helps and he finally gets steadys enough to check out his prison. Around him he finds an ocean of blood, in convenient plastic bags, nicely lined up in showcases.

His eyes wander back to the door, systematically searching for its weak points, but finding only massive steel. No lock. The cooling chamber can only be opened from the outside. Fuck! He bangs a fist onto the rigid steel. He should have waited for Samuel, at least left him a note with the address. Fuck up Number #3.

He is setting a new record tonight. Every step was a problem. The bartender in the "Black Rose" had at first not been very cooperative when he asked for the grey curled guy, had not reacted to a fifty, not even to a hundred. It wasn't until he pushed a knife into his side inconspicuously and fixated the guy for a full minute without a blink that he was given the address of an abandoned bank building in downtown.

Well, here he was. Stupid rookie mistake. Concern for Dean always has clouded his rational thinking. Now nobody knows where he is and still no trace of Dean.

He fights against the desperation gripping him and pulling him down a dark tunnel.

"Sammy..."

 _Children born to get high_  
_Turn your heads to the sky_  
_We're burnin' in the heat below_

The familiar name lets him whirl around. His heart skips a beat, then pumps like an impact drill. The well-known voice sounds even rougher than usual. In the darkest corner, next to one of the cabinets he can make out a hunched over figure.

"Dean.” Relieved, he takes two quick steps towards his brother, but Dean crawls even further back into the corner of his hide. Dark, shiny eyes gleaming up to him behind the arm Dean has protectively planted over his face. A overstretched plastic tube is dangling from his wrist.

His brothers makes a choked little noise, still retreating, but with the steel wall in his back, Dean has nowhere to go. A tortured expression contorts Dean’s face and he is looking helpless and lethal at the same time. It is a breathtaking mixture, especially since he seldomly has been on the receiving end of Dean's hunter glower. I shouldn’t be attractive. Like at all.

He get to his knees, cautiously moves half a meter closer to Dean, raising his hand as if Dean were a wild dog. Or a rabid black dog!

 _Oh it'll be sufferin' here_  
_In the blood, in the fear_  
_If you Judas me, man_  
_I will kill you if I can_

"Did you drink, Dean?" Skeptically, he nods towards the blood bank. What he has read about newly turned vampires, there is not a chance Dean was able to combat the want, the urge, the need. He is fraternized with the knowledge how strong Dean is, too much sometimes. His soldier stance, this “No matter what”-mindset, the fucking "Yes, Sir!" had rattled him more than once. Now he hopes, that … but there are superhuman powers at work here.

 _Army's down to defeat_  
_All the dogs in the street are seeking shelter before a storm_

A shiver runs through him, the cold crystallizing inside of him as agonizing despair.

"Sam, I didn't ..." Dean raises his hands defensively, his face and voice now translucent and broken like a shell. "I swear ..." Sam guardedly scrutinizes his brother, who still seems to be huddling for shelter in the corner, like an animal. He has seen his brother like this, he was much younger then though. A furious John Winchester was from time to time more frightening than anything they faced during their hunts.  

The last centimeters, then he feels cold marble skin of Dean's wrist under his finger tips. In a flash, Dean spulled away as if he had burned him with his touch.

The hardly suppressed lurking in Dean's eyes makes him freeze. His brother's body language tells him that he is safe, but his eyes bark prowl. Dean leers at him as if he wants to eat him, and this thought is probably not so far-fetched. He warily extends his hand again, watching out for any sort of ambush. Something animalish scurries across his brother's face.

 _There's a wraith-like shadow appearin'_  
_And though my eyes are veiled_  
_I'm lookin' for the rain to fall_

Gasping Dean buries his face in his sleeve again, mumbling "Your smell, Sam. And your heart ..." Shuddering convulsively, Dean presses his other hand onto his ear. "It is so damn loud. You better walk away from me – now!" With the last sentence Dean glances up at him and there is a flash of pointed white flash behind Dean's lips.

Involuntarily he falls back, blood wildly pulsating in his ears. A groan escapes from behind Dean's little fortress of clothes and arms and Sam is suddenly sure that his brother can hear how fast his heart beats.

Inch by inch, Sam slowly backs away to the opposite wall, the one furthest to Dean’s corner, which is still only two, three meters. He leans against the cold metal wall and sinks down to the icy floor. It feels arctic in here, but his heart is still beating wildly and he can't avert his gaze from Dean’s, whose eyes are shining like green searchlights in the shadowy corner.

Finally Dean breaks the contact, swallows and buries his face in his shoulder.

 _With a thorn in the side_  
_And the ocean too wide_  
_And the avenues so long_

Sam sighs, then wraps his arms around his knees. The silence between them weighs heavier than the frosty air, but still the glacial temperature takes possession of him more and more dominantly. Eventually he bursts. "F-f-fuck, Dean. Wh-why did you run away? In a few hours, Samuel's in the hotel room with the cure!"

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” Dean looks so lost, like a little boy.

They have to get out of here.

 

 

 

**° ° °**

 

 

°


	5. The strangest gift has found me here

Music: Mark Lanegan - Blues for D

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP94fLc6H4g)

[Lyrics](http://www.songlyrics.com/mark-lanegan/blues-for-d-vocal-version-lyrics/)

 

 

 

 **The strangest gift has found me here**  
i _n the coldest time of year_

 

 

 

 _I hear old voices begin cascading,_  
_then stop awhile and then_  
_the medicine is already fading._

 

 

Sam was close, so fucking close. Never has Dean been more aware of how much Sam affects him - in ways that ...

He is hit with another wave of red, liquid lust and a small groan falls through his pointed teeth onto his lips. More blood is seeping through the provisional bandage on Sam's forehead and his eyes are flying over Sam's body for more bruises, deliberately letting out the bleeding spot on his temple.

The now familiar jolt in his jaw, the shock still remaining the same and he flinches away. He wants to protect his little brother. And he wants to drink him until every drop Sam is part of him, Sams and his blood united into one stream.

Suddenly a cruel suspicion overcomes him ~~and he fucking suppresses this little slither of hope, that they are back together~~. "Did he turn you, too?"

He is probing with his vampire senses. A flash of agony setting him feven more on edge, because there's only Sam, human Sam and much too much of him. His inherent smell dominated by sweat and panic right now, but unmistakenly Sam.

He sighs and his undead lungs fill with the pure, numbing aroma of his brother, the taste lingering on his tongue like the sweetest lure: dried sweat and cheap motel soap, rock salt and gunpowder and the unique smell of flannel shirts, old books and the passenger seat of the Impala.

He can even smell the dressing from the salad Sam had 3 1/2 hours ago in that little diner, before they went into this raunchy goth bar.

This is what he has been fleeing from, out of the window of the hotel, because no refrigerator full of blood can entice him as much as the smell of his own brother. If he hadn't, then ... Fuck!!!

Dean swallows and presses his face hard against his biceps. He has to stop breathing. Working aginst the usual routine is not easy, but after a while he is able to consciously switch off the contraction and widening of his lungs. It's only of limited help against Sam’s scent, his smell wrapping Dean up in a red cloud of craving.

Covering his eyes, nose and ears helps a little, but Sam's heartbeat still vibrates through every fiber of his body. He can’t fucking control it, himself. Not with Sam. And his clever brother seems to get that, because right now he is receding back into his corner, away from him.

Sams mouth is moving, followed by a look as if he wants an answer. Dean thinks he has understood something with Samuel. Probably Sam is fantasizing about “The Cure”. Despite his new super hearing, he can barely separate the words from Sam's throbbing heart.

There is no cure. If there would be one, Bobby would have heard about it long ago and would have told them. The thought of Bobby is harrowing.

“We have to get out of here," he understands from Sam's corner through the pulsating red stream and he can only agree with Sam. If they don't get out of here soon, he can't guarantee for anything anymore.

"Did they do something to you?" Sam shakes his head, a smile that hurts stretched over his face. Fuck! Sammy shouldn't be here. Dean hates himself for luring his brother into this trap through his stupid escape.

He’s gonna kill Boris! Hate and shame that a vampire has managed to turn him are equally balanced plus this fucked up need to drink – to drink Sam.  

Probably the guy had already noticed in this dark alley how far his desire for Sam really goes and had drawn his special kind of satisfaction from it. The vampire had known exactly what he was doing to him when he locked Sam up with him and was now just waiting, wanting to see, feel what Dean would do to Sam.

Sam looks at him from across the narrow room. The emotions on his brother's face change so quickly that he can only follow them by reading Sam's smell, his heartbeat, and that devours his self-control.

Sam's signals are as clear as if he could read his mind. Self-loathing and rage because he let himself be caught. Relief, because he found him and there's something else he can't place and that hits him deep in his guts like an electric shock.

 

_now these torn shades are all I see_

 

"--- you --- --- blood from --- vampire?" Sam looks at him so hopefully, all scrunched up puppy eyes and Dean can't take his gaze off his brother.

Even though Sam is right there with him, his emotions are running through a flashback, when they incarcerated him here, relief replacing the belief that he would never see Sam again.

"How did you even find me, Sam?" – “--- bar. --- --- ---- following --- mobile signal." - "But I turned it off?" – “--- normal one. --- not the tracker --- - put into --- --- jacket.”

“The tracker?” Dean is so upset, that he nearly feels like his normal self. “---, sorry. I --- ---- afraid. And see, --- actually …”

He is about to give Sam a really good lecture about privacy, when he gets distracted by the clicking noise of chattering teeth. It is not just Sam’s blue lips, that are shivering, Sam’s whole body is convulsing in suppressed shudders.

He can feel that the air around them is cool, but it doesn't affect him - not anymore. Sam averts his eyes and rises, kicks the metal wall, curses, then examines the door frame, the showcases until he finally looks back at Dean.

"I've tried everything, Sammy." He wishes he wouldn't sound so resigned, yet Sam's eyes light up briefly, perhaps because of the familiar "Sammy" that he normally hates, and somehow that makes it even worse. This freezer will be Sam's coffin.

He has often thought about it in his own private cinema. During countless sleepless nights, he had pictured in detail how they might die. Somehow he had imagined Sam's death to be more spectacular than freezing to death.

But that it would be side by side, that had always been unobscured for him.

 _If not for you_  
_I knew I'd go_

 

Sam stops hurting himself on the invincible door and draws half a step closer to him again. Instantly, his hackles rise and Dean wants to pull his brother down to him, drown himself in Sam – smell and blood and body.

Some of it seems to show on is face, because Sam’s strait stutters and finally he walks again over to the corner furthest away from Dean and his terrible desires.

Sam slides down the wall, then wraps his arms around his knees and puts his head on them. His panic-stricken breathing is becoming quieter with each passing minute, his heartbeat slower.

He can smell the stress in Sam's sweat, but the smell is fading as if the heat of life is slowly sneaking out of Sam.

He stares for the hundredandseventh time at the digital display of the thermostat above the door. When they locked him in here, it had been 4°C. He is quite sure, had enough time to familiarize himself with everything in his prison.

Now there is a minus in front of the number. They turned the temperature down after throwing Sam in like food for him. He doesn't know if blood can acutally freeze and go bad from too low temperatures, but it seems they don't care how many supplies they loose.

Their goal is that the Winchesters, at least one of them, gets killed. If Sam hadn't come, it would have been him. Again Dean gets lost in forming plans on how to put an end to his undead life before he does something stupid like attacking his brother.

His eyes wander thoughtfully over the different devices and materials. He doesn't think he can effectively disjoint his head from his neck with the sharp edge of the showcase. Does Sam still have a knife with him? He doesn't dare to ask out of fear that Sam will understand why he wants to know.

His brother has always been a bit too bright, can read him like the old leather tomes he always revels in during research. Besides, if he still had his weapons, he would have taken them out long ago.

And Boris is a lot of things, but definitely not stupid. Probably he can sense what he feels for Sammy right now through this fucking blood bond.

 

  _to take a look at what I've known_  
_did not know how to tell you so._

 

He feels the jerk in his jaw again. It still disgusts himself abysmally. But the real problem is the bloodlust. It's like the hot fever of hunting, only more potent. His whole perception, everything is focused on one point - on Sam, on his brother's blood, his skin, his body ...

Dean slowly rises from the cover of the dark corner and stands in front of one of the showcases. The plastic-wrapped blood seems to pulsate before his eyes in an arcane rhythm, as if it has a heartbeat of its own. He pushes the pane of glass aside and reaches for a blood bag. Anything, any distraction is better than Sam's alluring smell.

He looks over at his brother, but Sam sits there, hunched over his knees, just as he did five minutes ago, twenty, forty.

With a plastic bag that says "Goth-Girl, 23 - A+", he sits back in his corner. An indistinct smell of patchouli rises from it. What a stupid cliché, but at least he's distracted now. He puts the bag of blood on his stomach and then sinks back into contemplating the state of his brother.

 

 _all my friends I'll always miss,_  
_don't have time for one more kiss ..._

 

It's time I quit ...

 

 


	6. How close am I to losing you?

.

 

 

 

 

Music: The National - About today

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r26VsCGCgb0)

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl8sBM9H16Q) \- video from the movie „The Warriors“

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/The-national-about-today-lyrics)   
  


  
**How close am I to losing you?**  
_Today, you were far away_

 

 

 

Sam's leaning in his corner like a shattered toy. 73 minutes ago - Dean knows this with steadfast certainty - they threw Sam in here like slaughter cattle.

He listens to Sam's breath, which has become slow, much too slow. Dean wishes he could drift away like Sam. Sam hasn't moved for ten minutes, he's sure, he's watched every twitch, every one of Sam's heartbeats, every quiet breath.

He knows what Sam's breath sounds like. He’s studied it his whole life. The deep dozing rhythm when he's about to fall asleep, the hectic wheezing when he has a nightmare, the suppressed little noises when he quietly jerks off in the bed next to him, because Dean is undefeated world champion in faking "I've long fallen asleep."

But Sam doesn't sleep. He doesn't even have to use his vampire skills to hear that. It is as if the hypothermia has already pulled his brother into its cold arms and out of reality.

Slowly he seems to get used to Sam's smell, he finds it less provocative. Or is the smell fading for some other reason? With one fluid motion he is up.

"Sam?" On his knees he follows the scent, slowly penetrates into Sam's private sphere. They were always close, also physically. Motel rooms and the back seat of a car as a home does that, grappling and wrestling in combat training as well, the grinding and crashing all over each other and moving like telepathically connected bodies during hunts, side by side, shoulder by shoulder.

Until Sam had left for Stanford.

 _What could I say?_  
_I was far away_

 

He looks at Sam's quiet figure, which right now looks more like his little brother then ever in the whole last years on the road.

He carefully touches Sam's forehead. Cool. The vampire in him savvys the dried blood flakes under his fingertips.

Hpynotised, he lets his hand glide from the forehead over Sam's cheeks, over the muscle strand of his neck under which the pulse is beating much too slowly. His fingers want to stay on the pulse point, vital and delicious, but he forces them to slide further under the little hair in Sam's nape. Drops of sweat have crystallized to ice there, though Sam’s skin is soft and a little warmer than the rest.

With the warmth Sam's scent is floating up to Dean, intense like a punch below the waist, but not painful, the exact opposite and Dean can no longer hold back a low moan.

Desire rises in him, aching in his veins, his teeth, his heart. It makes even the thirst for blood seem ridiculous ... He wants Sam. He wants him, his little brother.

"Dean ..." A jolt goes through Sam's body, murmering: “I’m not that cold anymore." Sam sounds barely conscious.

Instantly Dean's predator mode switches to caretaker. He is about to say "Good.", when it occurs to him that on a long, icy cold hunt in the Rockies Dad once described this as one of the symptoms that frostbitten people show shortly before they die. There have been bodies found in the deepest winter, who had a heap of clothes lying next to them.

He kneels over his brother, cradling Sam’s head in his hands and stroking the long bangs from his face. Sam doesn't look up, doesn't move, but the pressure in Dean's palm gets firmer, as if Sam nestles into his touch.

Dean can feel the muscles and tendons working under the skin, the pulse in Sam's carotid artery slowly accelerating on the palm of his hand, hearing the pumping in the veins come back to life.

Even though the long skin contact seems to be burning his hands, he knows that Sam feels much too cold. "Look at me, Sammy!" Bitter cold fear touches his heart.

"Sam? ... Sam!!! Sammy, damn it!" In a fraction of a second Dean is on his feet and pulls Sam up with him, Sam’s head lolling back and forth.

 

_Hey, are you awake?_

_Yeah, I'm right here._

_Well, can I ask you about today?_

 

"Sam?" The big body in front of him stirs and Sam opens his eyes, slowly as if he has to understand where he is, how it works to live.

"Dean???" Sam’s lips are pale, more blue than pink. He squints as if he is waking up from a long sleep, then he tumbles against Dean’s chest, clutching at his jacket as if he is trying to crawl into Dean, probably in search of body heat he can't give him anymore.

Without warning, Sam's body tension fails again and he is collapsing right into his arms. “Hey!" Dean briefly has the impulse to slap Sam in the face to get a reaction from his seemingly lifeless brother. But he's afraid that he'll do it too hard. Cheekbones are fragile structures.

He shakes him a little and Sam moans annoyed, but at least he opens his eyes again. With one arm he keeps supporting Sam's body upright, with the other he is starting to unbutton his shirt.

Despite his new vampire abilities it doesn't really work and carefully he first lets Sam and then himself sink to the ground again, leaning Sam against the wall. He kneels over him and tears off his jeans jacket, his flannel shirt, his T-Shirt.

Why hasn't he thought about this before? "Sam? Sammy, here." The cold can no longer harm him, the Undead. He tears down Sam's jacket. The Impala keys fall out of the inside pocket and slide over the floor with a metallic clang.

The sound seems to awaken some hunter instinct in Sam, because suddenly Sam looks up, confusedly checking out Dean's undershirt and his jacket in Dean's hand. "You're welcome to have it, Dean," he mumbles. "You must be cold. It is really freezing in here."

"It’s okay, Sammy.” Helplessly Dean strokes Sam's hair, trying to not revel too much in the soft brush on his palms.

Although Sam now has his eyes open, he doesn't seem to register anything, reactions choppy like a string puppet.

Gracelessly, Dean fits the sleeve of his shirt over Sam's arm. The last time, he had helped Sam getting dressed was when Sam was four. With the oversized build his brother now has two decades later, it definitely hasn't gotten any easier. Dean tugs the shirt behind Sam's back. He's about to push his second hand through the sleeve, when Sam really focuses his gaze on him.

"I ... You need that yourself, Dean!” Sam's face is bent so that the Sam-Winchester-patented puppy eyes look is hovering right in front of him. He averts Sam’s gaze, but his eyes now fall onto Sam's mouth, which is open a crack and he wants to kiss his brother until his lips start to change color again. His own are tingling in anticipation, the scratching of their beard stubbles against each other ...

Before he can continue to indulge in his abnormal infatuation, Sam starts to take everything off again. "Dean, you'll freeze to death," Sam whispers as he tugs uselessly on the sleeve of Dean’s shirt over his arm.

"Not anymore, Sammy.", he answers as quietly. Dean hopes that he doesn't sound as sad and hopeless as he feels, but Sam seems to have sensed it nevertheless. Without resistance he allows Dean to squeeze his broad upper body further into the flannel shirt, which is much too small for him.

He studies Dean working at it with a focused concentration, as if Dean was a rare animal on earth and Sam a scientiest from a planet far, far away. Dean has to touch Sam's chest to close the stubborn shirt and he keeps pressing at Sam's broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric.

‘Sam can not freeze to death,' Dean contemplates. He's already survived so much more than a fucking, stupid, goddamned cooling chamber. All he has to do is put Sam in his clothes to keep him warm and everything will be fine. He closes the last button of the shirt.

The buttonholes are stretched to the extreme and finally Sam is conscious enough to help with Dean’s jeans jacket. It also barely fits, but luckily Sam's dented jacket is easier to put on top of it and slowly a little life returns in Sam's eyes. Satisfied, Dean looks at his work. The Michelin mascot has nothing on Sam.

Sam still watches him, but his gaze has changed. He now resembles a thirsty man in the desert looking at an oasis at the horizon. Yet he is the one who is freezing to death and Dean is the one who dies of thirst.

"Done," he says to break the strange tension between them. But he can’t manage to get to his knees and go back to his corner. "Better?" Suddenly Dean is terribly aware that he is practicaly naked besides the undershirt in the typical Winchester style - washed out and with a few holes. He thinks about putting it on Sam as well, but the feeling of defenseless nudity holds him back, because Sam still looks at him so oddly from below while he kneels over him.

The little body heat, that is emanating from his brother, baits him. A slight movement at the waistband of his jeans makes Dean flinch away, but Sam's fingers are caught in the belt loops, pulling him relentlessly down onto his lap, whilst he is gently fending Sam off. Even though Sam should only have little strength left in his cold body, he seems to know exactly what he wants and when Sam wants something, he'll find a way.

Sam's thighs graze him between his legs and he can't ignore the sparks it sends to his abdomen anymore. The whole thing throws him, not just in a physical way and eveb though his defense lines are broken, Dean is still fighting to stay in control. .

So he does the opposite of what he actually wants: he does not press himself into Sam, does not take his face between his hands, does not rub himself on Sam’s thighs, maybe out of fear that Sam can feel how hard he is.

"Dean ..." Sam's hands come loose from his hips and now slowly wander to his cheeks. His fingers are way too cold and stiff. Normally Dean would tease Sam for being such a girl, but the moment is quiet, out of this world and he can not not lean into Sam, longing for his warm skin on his cold one.

Until the abysmal fear grips him, because Sam has often touched him, but never like that, like a blind man learning his face. All of a sudden Dean is sure: Sam has calculated his chances. And his brother is saying goodbye to him. 

"Damn." He puts his hand on Sam's cold fingers, gently takes both hands in his own. "Sam, move." It comes out much too harsh, but he is fucking scared to death about Sam, who doesn't really seem to care about his imminent end.

"Come here." He rolls from Sam’s legs, drops onto the floor next to Sam, pulling him onto his lap. He can effortlessly turn his brother the way he wants him to until Sam is half sitting in his arms. He would like to make a stupid joke to dissolve this strange tension between them, but … Sam is dying ... fucking dying in his arms in a fucking freezer.

Normally, Sam's broad torso would be far too heavy for Dean. He often had the pleasure to be nailed to the ground by him during their training sessions. But “normal” Dean doesn’t exist anymore.

'If he could fight with him now, Sam wouldn't stand a chance,' he thinks grimly and his throat becomes far too tight from the memory of Sam having his T-shirt sweat-soaked and clinging to his body, the will to win flashing out of his eyes.

Dean bends over the current motionless, pale Sam in his arms and tries to cover as much as possible with his cold vampire body as he can, to keep the warmth, the life in Sam. If Boris came in now, he would probably think they were the Pieta, Jesus taken from the cross in Mary's arms, but Sammy is not dead yet.

Damn it. He should have done that with his shirt much earlier. How could he have overlooked the real danger just because he didn't trust himself? He still doesn't though. To hold Sam so close, only millimeters of fabric to separate their bodies from each other is like a drug kicking in, licking at his will power. Meanwhile, Sam snuggles up to him until his head rests on Dean's shoulders. And now Sam's neck is so close to Dean's lips that saliva is pooling in his mouth, saliva with a foreign taste.

Gently he turns his head the other way. Sam’s long hair are now tickling his cheek and an electric shock flashes right through him, leaving sparks in its wake, that fire right into his groin.

"Dean ..." Sam's voice sounds rough and so deep that the bass vibrates through his chest, commanding the hairs in Dean's neck to erect. Sam begins to move in his arms, turns to the side so that he can look Dean in the eyes again, grabbing his hand.

Sam's cold fingers stroke the callused skin of his palm, the old scar on Dean's thumb, not from a fight, but from a cut when he once had collected the shards of a shattered whisky bottle left on the kitchen floor by Dad.

The touch is far too light and he wished Sam would grip him harder, restrain him, hit him. How could Dean be so stupid to run away?

But Sam's hands are gliding slow over every crease in Dean’s hand as if he wants to memorize it, all the wrinkles in his palm. Dean wonders what his lifeline is saying right now about this situation here. Goose bumps raise across Dean's arms. He didn't expect his vampire body to be capable of such a reaction.

Sam's hand continues to wander over his wrist, stroking Dean's forearms, and he doesn't know his brother like that. Sam is affectionate, sometimes cross-border so, especially when he's drunk, but this is unusually tender.

Although earlier, much earlier, when they were young, Sam had caressed him much more often like this, absent-mindedly during watching TV or on long nightly journeys in the Impala, both of them laying squeezed together on the back seat and sleep not coming despite the monotonous humming of the engine and the lead-heavy tiredness in their bones and eyes. On these occassions, Sam had softly played with his hand about to fall asleep.

But they had been young back then, even though Dean didn't feel like he had ever really been a child after he had been fou

Sam should not treat him, Vampire Dean, that way. He deserves completely different things, but under Sam's hands, the nervous tension is draining out of him and he simply wants to let himself fall into these little caresses of his baby brother.

"Dean ..." It's just a whisper, but it's like Sam isn't just petting his skin, but Sam’s voice is like a touch of its own, goes deeper, embracing their whole shared, fucked up story. It coaxes right into his heart.

This time Dean doesn't manage to resist. He grabs Sam's neck and pulls his brother towards him, burying his nose in Sam's hair, breathing in the familiar scent like a drowning man and Sam’s musk again is like a fist hitting him in right into his stomach, deeper, but his hands continue to rummage aimlessly through Sam's hair and a moan that sounds like Sam's name, slips over his lips.

Sam stares at him with an indefinable look, the color returning violently to his cheeks and Dean always knew that his little brother was more than attractive, but ... Damn!

Hypnotized, Dean stares into Sam's face and his whole body is still screaming for Sam's blood, but even more so for Sam's skin under his fingers and these horrible teeth are not extracting and …

He is so relieved that he kisses Sam. Just kisses him without thinking, because it - he - doesn't feel dangerous right now. He hits the corner of Sam’s mouth rather than Sam's lips. Sam's stubble scratching at Dean’s lips. Sam doesn't kiss him back, but he doesn't fight him off either. Instinctively, his hands wander to Sam's hips and Sam makes a small movement, slips a little closer into him. 

"Dean?" Sam's voice is higher than normal, questioning and Dean turns away, closing his eyes. He shouldn't have done that. Fuck!

'You should get back to your corner real quick, Dean Winchester.' He mentally forces himself to get up from the position bent over Sam, away from Sam's warm, enticing body, but his own body is not obeying, but then there are Sam’s cold-warm hands on his cheeks and his eyes are still closed and he wants to see Sam, but he doesn't dare to look him in the eyes right now, so he listens to Sam's reactions instead.

The pulse in Sam’s veins is singing and a new note creeps into Sam's scent and the vampire in him is uncontrollably released by it. He grabs Sam by the throat and thrusts his mouth against Sam's neck, feeling the pointed teeth under the flesh of his lips, his breath going much too fast.

Only when he hears Sam's "Do it" does Dean regain control. Horrified he recedes, fighting to gain his composure, breathing, not because he needs it, but because it calms him down, helps him work through his giant fuck-up.                                                                                                                                    

"Dean!" Sam sounds ... Definitely more alive than a few minutes ago.

He carefully opens an eye. "Sorry?" He tries to make the contrite face with which he used to make Sam laugh. It's harder though with these strange teeth and Sam just remains deadly serious.

 

 

"You know we're gonna die in here, Dean, so …"

 

 

  
_How close am I to losing you?_

 

 

 

_*_

 

 

 

_._

 

 

 


	7. Of Love and Trust

°

 

 

Music: Pearl Jam – Song of Love and Trust

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hr26JwPOZA)

[ Lyrics](https://genius.com/Pearl-jam-state-of-love-and-trust-pearl-jam-live-on-10-legs-lyrics)

 

 

 

**Of Love and Trust**

_(Help me from myself!)_

 

 

                                                                                                                         

 

 

_state of love and trust_

_as I busted down the pretext_

 

"You know we're gonna die in here, Dean, so …"

Even though Sam doesn’t finish, the sentence makes Dean shiver, closing his eyes from the implications, that lay buried in the not spoken words.

The bloodlust creeping around in his veins like a disease. // He shall not infect his brother, but Sam is alread so fucking close to him again, following him into his corner. An animalistic “Fight or Flight” mode takes control over Dean for a moment, switching from wanting to shove Sam away from him back into the safety of the other corner to wanting to grab Sam’s neck and finally have that bit(e) of his brother he was craving for far too long.

Cautiously, Dean opens his eyes again, Sam is right there in his face, kneeling so close that Sam wraps him in white clouds of his warm breath, filling the quiet, narrow space between them. Looming over him, Sam's gaze is all-consuming as if he is the one, who wants to drain and devour Dean. He can hear his accelerating pulse, smells and sees the blood flowing back under the surface of Sam's still too pale cheeks.

And Sam is right about death, but he doesn’t seem to see the real danger here, which is Dean himself and he is still way to close and he should shove Sam off of him for good.

But there is something like hope shining in Sam’s eyes above him and he clings to it like grasping at the last straw. Dean doesn't know where his trembling brother is gaining this cocksure vitality from, focusing on him with an urgency that Dean is not comfortable with and at the same time wishes Sam would never look away again.

Sam reaches out a hand towards him, as if he wants to calm Dean down. His gaze seems to also speak of the burdens and joys of their shared years on the dusty backroads of nocturnal America and he can't shut his brother out anymore, gives way to Sam, who leans still kneeling in front of Dean carefully against him.

A huge sigh bulges Sam's chest and Dean is afraid, that all the buttons will pop in a moment from the strain.

"Dean?" He can see the severity in Sam's face already, her the gravity in the voice of his brother. "I never told you, but in the cage..."

Dean is cut by the words with a flashing blade. He waits, frozen, for Sam to continue speaking, since he never said much about anything back then, which is only two months ago, but feels like half a lifetime. That his brother now begins to let him in on his strictly guarded secrets is a fucking bad omen.

"You know, w-what the worst thing was down there?" Dean can't tell if his brother is stuttering with cold or because what he's about to tell him is so abysmally cruel that even a Winchester is afraid of it.

"No, Sam." He tries to compose himself. "The worst thing was that I-I never told you that ... told you that ... even though I left for Stanford. ... No! Please, let me say this now! ... The times with you, Dean, were always the best in my life, even though i-it wasn't always easy."

He wants to make Sam shut up. He knows where he is leading them. That is a damn eulogy, though nobody is dead. Well, maybe he is a little bit, but ...

Dean presses his hand on Sam's lips, but his brother has yeti-like proportions and he, if he doesn't use his vampire powers, has no chance to restrain him. Sam forces his hand away, swallows. "We shared so much with each other, but ... I've always repressed it."

Dean is still too immersed in his "Sammy mustn't die" thoughts, that only the last word captures his attention again. Sam is looking at him as if he wants to memorize him, but they already have, their lives so intertwined that Dean sometimes doesn't know where he ends and Sam begins. If Sam goes now, then ...

"But Lucifer ... he has dug it up. At the beginning, I thought it was one of his psycho games again, but ... Lucifer is many things, but not a liar. He tortures you with the truth."

Dean's head buzzes. He doesn't understand what Sam is getting at, only that it's important, otherwise Sam wouldn't be so nervous.

Suddenly, he understands where Sam is heading to. He tries to push himself to be on board with the idea of dying here together, but letting Sam die – he just does not have it in him. Though one thing is clear: _If_ Sam would die ... he will end himself. And maybe he will be able to take some of those damn Bloodsucker with him on his way out.

He always had hoped, they would end up sharing one of these stupid illusionary heaven departments together, but it looks more like he will go hunting with Benny in Purgatory again.

"Dean, there's no easy way ..." He wants to say "Yes, Captain Obvious!" to Sam, but Sam looks at him way too seriously for that shallow joke. "I've been trying for a few weeks and now ... This is pretty much the last chance."

Sam's forehead creases in growing desperation and from his neck a blush starts to creep over his face and Dean doesn't understand what's driving such shame up in Sam.

He sees the fight in Sam's face as he tries to hold his gaze, although he wants to look away. He also sees the moment when the impulsive courage wins. "Dean, I ... I want to ... be with you.“ Sam's eyes are big and wide and he lets Dean see right into his soul.

"Sam, I am with you ..." Dan breaks off his reply the moment he grasps the full impact, grasps its full implications. And he can smell how true it is.

The indefinite, the most enticing scent of Sam - now he has a name for it - and it hits him, his whole body like the blast wave of an explosion, carrying him far, far back into the past - flushes a scene up in Dean of a spring in Utah over fifteen years ago.

*

For the first time, they had stayed in one place for more than three months. Dad had even rented a small cabin on the outskirts of the village for them before disappearing for weeks on end.

It was the spring when Sam had turned twelve. Dean was just frying meatballs for the spaghettis, highly concentrated not to let them burn again, when he heard Sam rush into the front door and then suddenly everyting was strangely quiet.

Only when there was a mumbled “Dean", he looked up from the pan and found his little brother standing undecidedly in the door frame. The red in Sam's face made him pause. It took a little while for Sam to speak his mind, his upper body wrapping itself halfway around the door frame, whilst he took turns glimpsing at Dean from behind his bangs and the stained kitchen floor.

Dean remembers that he was worried about both his brother and the Meatballs in the pan, but he had never seen his brother so embarrassed, not even with Dad's worst scoldings. The desire to confide in Dean is written all over Sam's face in a red blush, but he doesn't seem to find the right words.

Finally, Dean takes the pan off the stove and wipes his hands on a towel. "Go ahead, who is she?" After having thrown "You're so mean, Dean!" into his face, half turning to run to his room, Sammy finally comes around. That he thinks Sophia from his class is "pretty nice" explains the red cheeks.

"It will be all right, Sammy. Just be yourself." Dean has tousled through Sam’s long hair, vaguely remembering this time, when he was in love without knowing if the feelings were mutual.

*

And that's exactly how his brother looks right now - and it makes Sam seem so young and vulnerable, and if he's honest, it is completely captivating. That one time it had been his first big crush. And now?

Dean doesn't dare to believe, to hope that Sam ... Now he starts blushing himself and it is such a weird feeling, hadn’t had it in decades, but Sam misinterprets it. "I'm sorry, Dean." He can see Sam backpedaling inside, the openness, the hope in his face falling like a curtain without applause.

"I would have never brought it up. ... But now - I didn't want to go without ... you knowing that, knowing that I ..." - "Shut up, Sam." His brother shies away, the red flaring up in his face again, deeper than before.

_Want to be enlightened  
like I want to be told the end, end, yeah_

Actually, Dean was gonna say, "Shut up and kiss me!” - even if it's super cheesy. He really wanted to, but he can feel the beginnings of the vampire fangs extracting at the thought of Sam's lips and so only this much too roughly mumbled "Shut up, Sam!” comes over his lips.

He doesn't know if he should be grateful that they're both so fucked in the head, but he definitely has to work on the flirting technique for his brother - in the few hours they probably have left.

"Dean, really! I'm sorry..." - "I said shut up!" He grips Sam’s arm wanting to feel his way too cold skin, the last bit of warmth there. Sam resolutely draws back, but behind him is one of the showcases. The blood bags indignantly sway back and forth as if Sam’s fall has woken them from their hibernation.

“Sam.” Dean tries to make his voice gentle and soothing, but Sam is still in an embarressed panic, seemingly being swallowed by his own personal nightmare to really respond.

“Sam!” No reaction.

“Sammy!” Dean barks and eventually, Sam looks up into Dean’s eyes. Carefully, Dean takes his brother’s face into his hands, brushing the long strands from his face, finally resting his palms on Sam's cheeks.

Sam fixates him uncertain until Dean pushes his hand into Sam's hair, pulls him down towards him and rests his forehead against Sam’s jaw. Sam is breathing way too fast, he can feel it on his skin. Reflexively, Dean presses his lips tighter over his teeth.

  _And the barrel shakes_  
_aimed a directly at my head_  
_Oh, help me, help me from myself!_

He leans back and tries to catch Sam's gaze, which is resting on something behind him, probably the blood bags.

"Are you sure?" Dean’s voice is so low, he can hardly understand his own words about Sam's loud breaths. When Sam’s gaze glides back to him, his brother’s eyes seem transfigured. Far, far away. Maybe he misunderstood everything ...

With a deep sigh, that reverberates in his chest, Dean heaves himself up, but a giant body presses him down into the corner, sinking into him, long arms wrapping him up like a cave and there is a whisper in it: “I’m more than sure, Dean. We've already lost far too much time ...”, says the voice on an long exhale and involuntarily Dean nods.

 _Sin still plays and preaches,_  
_but to have an empty court_

Sam bends back and suddenly there is harsh neon light in Dean’s eyes again and he makes this weird noise, like a low hiss or a growl. Through the bright rays he can make out Sam, who is kind of reading his face and he wants Sam to know, what he means to him. It seems to register, because a moment later Sam envelops him again in his arms, holding him tight and it feels that this will be his life from now on - hidden in Sam's arms.

Ultimately, Sam kisses him. Not on his mouth first, but on his head and then on his cheek and chin, not on these horrible teeth, just grazing Dean's lips. A tingling echo resonates through Dean as Sam leaves his lips soft and warm over his unshaven jaw.

When Sam leans back slowly, it feels like the Earth's plate tectonics have shifted. Sam's eyes shine in a brilliance Dean has only ever seen when they barely had jumped off a near-death experience or when he had returned from Hell.

There is a tension oscillating between them like a tangible electric charge. Without warning, everything happens very fast. Sam grabs him by the straps of his undershirt, the small world of the freezer revolves around Dean like a carousel of blood and bright white-blue lights, and then he is buried under Sam and where does this damn guy get the strength to manhandle him around like that. 

_Sacrifice receiving the smell_  
_that's on my hands, hands, yeah_

But is is good here - under Sam. The wall in his back and Sam's broad torso protect him like a hiding place from everything that went wrong tonight. Though he also has to hide Sam. Maybe Death wouldn't find his brother then. How could he? Sam glows – even in this cold - full of life and he hasn’t seen him like that since his return from Lucifer's cage. Lucifer, who has scanned out of Sam, what's wrong with them both, enlightened Sam about his feelings for … him.

Something like gratitude rushes warmly through Dean and how can he feel such a thing for the devil? On a strange level he is also grateful to Boris. Because although the situation here seems completely hopeless - Who would have thought that the Winchesters would die in a fucking freezer? - he wouldn't wanted to trade this moment, finding out that they mean more to each other, more than brothers and companions and comrades-in-arms.

Dean closes his eyes and puts his hands under the lapels of Sam's jacket, stretches his palms over Sam's wide chest. Under his hands, under two layers of shirts, Sam's heart pulsates as hard as if it wants to jump into his hand.

And now Sam's hands also wander, wander carefully as if Dean were made of glass, over his shabby undershirt, over his chest to his neck. Sam has never looked at him for so long, captivates him with his eyes and Dean feels like squirming under Sam's feverish gaze, but his brother is serious and focused. Tonight is no time for denial.

Then something glaring like voracity pierces through Sam’s eyes into him. His brother narrows his glance, roaming over Dean’s face to his body. His little brother looks more like a beast of prey, than he feels right now, but it does gnaw at his selfrestraint, Sam's smell and blood and body luring him in.

Something outlandish tugs at the subconscious of Dean's mind like an intruder. Boris! The knowledge that the vampire can probably feel what they are doing in here paralyzes Dean for a moment. Do they all? Before Dean can withdraw himself, Sam leans in, lowers his head and bites Dean in the biceps.

"Saaaam, fuck..." The thoughts of Boris and the vampire coven explode in a moan. Let the fucking guy feel him, feel them, let them all feel how much power Sam has over him. There is worse stuff happening in this fucking world - and they both saw a lot of it.

Dean closes his eyes and runs his hands over Sam's chest muscles. He knows them well from side glances in the bathroom, has secretly envied them - admired. So far, he has only touched Sam there when he was injured, when he had to sew a wound. Sam's nipples are so hard, he can feel them even under two thick layers of flannel. He tries to rub over them and Sam is gone in a gasp of "Deeeeeeean ..."

It shoots like a missile to his groin, flaring up alarm signals in its salaciously hot wake. Dean squints his eyes shut tightly, but the moan still escapes his mouth and he can't cheat himself anymore. This has nothing to do with brotherly affection and everything with wanting to get lost in Sam.

 _Oh, ah, and the barrel waits,  
trigger shakes_  
a _imed right at my head,  
don't - won't you help me?_  
_Help me from myself!_

Carefully, he opens his eyes and discovers in surprise that Sam is absorbed in him as if these were really their last moments. At the same time, his brother is highly concentrated as he usually is with research. And maybe he studies Dean, as if he must never, never forget what he looks like when he's aroused, when he's with him ...

Damn, what are they doing here?

 _And the signs are passin',_  
_grip the wheel, can't read it_

Sam's face approaches his and Dean is hypnotized by Sam's pupils as big as black full moons. The moment stretches like an accident, the seconds before the collision.

"Fuck you, Dean.", huffs Sam and his intermittent breathing chases electric showers through Dean. He holds his breath. "Dean, I want you..." And then Sam does what Dean' has been refusing to himself for hours: he bites at the tender flesh and the strong muscles at Dean’s throat.

_State of love and trust_

 

 

 

 

_*_


	8. Something I can never have

°

 

 

 

 

NIN - Something I can never have

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3TYt4nfRp8)

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Nine-inch-nails-something-i-can-never-have-lyrics)

 

 

 

_(I just want)_

**something I can never have**

 

 

 

 

Fuck!!!!

 

When Sam bites into his throat, everything that Dean has been holding back for a felt eternity, explodes like a supernova, raging wildly and raw through his blood stream from the crown of his scalp to the tips of his toes. It is the most forbidden best sensation in heaven, hell and earth.

It's like a too tightly wound metal spiral finally being freed from its incarceration and his moan sounds like a plea around Sam's name. Though at the moment the coil ejects, it throws a shadow on Dean, a shadow with a devilish stare like a jack-in-a-box. But the face is John's. Something essential in Dean breaks with a crack only audible in his own gives way to instructions, that have been hard-wired into him since he was four years old. “Keep your brother safe!”

 _I'm down to just one thing_  
_And I'm starting to scare myself_

Not following the drill shocks his whole system into terror - straight to the bone. Trying to push through the frenzy, that is holding him under between his own longing, this insane hunger and his duty, Dean tries to push Sam off gently of him. Seemingly, Sam isn't aware of his inner turmoil at all, because his lips are still on his neck and he moans wanton words against his skin, that Dean can't understand through his - their - father's commands.

_Something I can never have_

Dean musters up all of his rational thinking and pushes his over grown brother off using more force than before without tapping into the vampire power. It is still a little too hard and Sam stumbles, crashing with his shoulder against one of the glass showcases. A bar comes loose and one window breaks, the splinters and some blood bags raining down onto the ground and Dean. Impatiently, he brushes the broken glass of his lap, sweeps the bags aside and reaches for Sam to make sure, he hasn’t hurt him with his stupid reaction.

Sam's eyes are wide with shock, his hand is automatically moving up to his lip. And there is blood, covering his mouth. Dean can smell shame and rejection and blood hot anger welling up in it. Using every last bit of restraint, that has been drummed into him, Dean lifts himself out of the corner, more shards clinking onto the concrete floor.

Sam’s eyes narrow on him. Carefully, Dean takes a step towards his brother, but Sam just keeps starring at him with his bleeding lip, his face undecipherable.

Tentatively, Dean closes the distance between them with another step, when a strong pain hits the left half of his face. Baffled, Dean touches his cheek and there is blood as well and that is fucking dangerous, because this shit is contagious. Goddamned vampire blood.

“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam spits out and little droplets of saliva mixed with blood hit Dean like a firebolt right into his guts, unsettling some animal instinct rooted in the vampire blood coursing through him.

Sam is glaring at him, furious heat rolling of him wave after wave like a shield of uncontained fury, flooding against Dean. “Fuck-you-Dean. You don’t get to play with my feelings like that. Not now!!!”

He hasn’t seen Sam that mad in a long time, blind riot thrumming in every heart beat. "You fucking asshole! You have no idea, how long ... and you ... you just ..." His brother moves, moves like the skillful hunter he is, lunging towards Dean like a bolt of frustrated rage. Fists and growls and knuckles and more "Fuck you, Dean!" are raining down on him as a Sam like hurricane hits him.

Even though Dean's adrenaline is spiking up, he is not fighting back, just defending himself instinctively against Sam's hardest blows, because he has so fucking deserved this.  

 _I just want something_  
_I just want something I can never hav_ e

It seldomly happens, because John Winchester has not just honed discipline into his oldest son, but if Sam is out of control, ferocious like this, he is a deadly dangerous creature.

Strangely enough, the one-sided fight does not really feel painful for Dean, more comforting in an odd way to feel Sam's strength resurrected from his cold apathy, feeling the untempered impact he is having on Dean's body. And weirdly arousing. Sam's newly broken out sweat hits Dean harder than his fists can, whilst Sam's smell is a fire work of adrenaline neurotransmitters, but what is really hooking Dean up, slingshooting right into his groin are the flagrant pheromones of ... Fuck!

He was too distracted by the scent and when Sam unexpectedly changes his technique, he can just watch Sam's fist slamming into him in slow-motion, smashing his ribs. He is bracing himself to hold his vampire strenght under control, when he hears the splintering of glass all around him as he is slung into one of the cases. Something hard breaking into his side and a crack inside of him. In anticipation of blinding pain, because his body remembers exactly how broken rips feel like, Dean flinches, but there is only a throbbing little ache, which fades away quickly. Though he is bleeding now from several wounds. An especially large broken piece of glass is sticking out of his palm, but when he has yanked it out, he can watch the flesh wound slowly closing until there is only cold, smooth skin.

Dean braces himself for more blows, trying to catch and capture Sam’s swinging fists, but he is too afraid to hurt Sam again, repeating “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.” over and over. He has seen his brother like this before, like a raging animal, though it was never, well, seldomly directed at him. Fucking Siren!

“Sam, stop! Please, stop.”

“I’m gonna die in here, Dean." Sam growls. “These are our last moments and you are just fucking ripping my heart out and stomping onto it and you … you …” Another shower of blows and fists finding flesh and bones.

"I know, Sammy. And I'm sorry!" Dean keeps repeating his apology, feeling Sam's punches having less impact on his body, but clubbing his mind and soul.

Ultimately, it seems he has gotten through to Sam, because his kicks and punches and thrusts are getting weaker. But actually, that is such a not good sign.

"Sam..." The familiar name soft and warm in Dean's mouth. Carefully, Dean graps Sam’s wrists and when there is no struggle, he lets them loose. Sam turns away, his head now hanging, and Dean rests one hand on Sam's shoulder, which rises and falls much too fast with Sam's breaths. With a huge frustrated groan, that might be a sob, Sam finally sinks into Dean.

"Sam, I didn't want ..." // "I'm sorry, Dean, ..." They speak exactly at the same time and need a moment to understand what the other said, checking each other out, still shaken from the fight, with unsecure glances.

With a gentle movement Dean turns Sam to face him and a silent sigh escaping his mouth, when finally Sam raises his gaze. Although he is taller than Dean, it seems as if Sam is looking at him from below, so shy and hurt is the expression in his eyes, though his cheeks are flushed and he is still panting in white little puffs into the freezing air.

"I didn't mean it, Sam." - "I noticed that." Sam's voice is flat and soundless under his heavy breaths. "I mean, I didn't wanted to push you back." Sam's head turns to him a little further. "Fuck, man. ... I ..."

  _In this place it seems like such a shame_  
_Though it all looks different now_  
_I know it's still the same_

“Whatever you want!" Dean breathes out. "Whatever? It didn't look like that earlier.” Sam squints at him skeptically and there is another surge of anger flashing in his eyes. Dean feels his face flush. "I'm sorry I freaked. It's just that ... It was a bit overwhelming." He tries his devil-may-care-grin, which normally works pretty well on his vis-a-vis, but Sam looks still stern. "Anything you want, Sammy." It brings just an unconvinced huff out of Sam. "Don’t go all big brother on me, Dean. That is actually quite a turn off.”

Probably the hurt shows on his face, but this is probably what you get, if you let your barriers down. “I really ... Sam? I mean it." Quizzically, Sam's eyes are boring into his. "Mhmm. Really? ... And you mean - anything?" There is a shiver running through Dean the way Sam is pronouncing the word "anything", whilst looking at him with this fervent stare. "You know, what anything could mean. ... Dean? ... Have you actually ever had sex with a man?"

It hits Dean harder than the blows from before. "Well, I ... haven't had the opportunity - yet, I mean." Dean is immediately uncomfortable with his stuttering and wishes he hadn't said anything. "And you?" I replies to win back territory.

Sam just keeps staring at him and Dean starts to become really afraid of the reply. There is this sharp sting in him, that doesn't really want to know. Then Sam turns his head away for a moment and that's answer enough. Oh, wow! Dean didn't expect that, not from his celibate monk brother. How many more secrets does Sam actually have?

If he knew who the guy was, then  … An unfamiliar feeling rises up in him. At first he thinks it's just shyness. Gay sex hasn't been one of their preferred small talk topics so far. But the irksome feeling mixes with something more powerful, that is needling and piercing.

 _This thing is slowly taking me apart_  
_Grey would be the color if I had a heart_

"I don't know." Sam finally discloses, looking a little sheepish. "How can you not know that???" Dean bellows, then tries to lower his much too loud voice again. “I mean…” Sam clears his throat. “Do you really wanna hear this!?!"

 _You always were the one to show me how_  
_Back then I couldn't do the things that I can do now_

_Come on tell me_

Dean gulps down another streak of curses and tries to look less grim. “Yes. It’s fine!” He himself can hear, how not fine it is, but Sam sighs and nods.

"A few weeks ago, after I had understood, that ... when I knew that I ... want more from you, I found this guy and ..." - "Found?" Their faces are suddenly very close and Dean quickly backs off again. "Yes, Dean - like you "find" women. So, I have tried it once with this guy, because ... just because." Sam now has this stubborn streak in his eyes, which Dean hates, but he doesn't want to fight anymore. There always has been way too much fighting in their lives.

And so, Dean swallows, bravely swallows all the "Who, When, Where?" questions that are surging his mind and tries to not listen to the violent flare in his heart. Nevertheless, it is probably written all over his face that he would just tear the guy apart with his hands, if he wasn’t locked up here.

"But I ... couldn't. ... Just couldn't." Sam sighs and the flames in Dean die a spontaneous death and only Sam remains, who now looks at him so shyly that Dean gently lays his hand on Sam's neck. He feels cold sweat. Shortly, he is afraid that Sam will shake him off, but finally his brother says wearily: "Because of you …"

 _I still recall the taste of your tears_  
_Echoing your voice ..._  

Dean hesitantly points to his chest and Sam nods. "Have you even begun to understand how much I love …?" Sam's voice is breaking at the end and his eyes are too shiny and Dean realizes that there are tears.

"Hey, hey... it's okay, Sam!" What a lie! But Sam looks at him so open-hearted and helpless and he wants to put Sam as much as ease as possible in their fucked up situation, lighten their fucked up burden in this night with no way out.

Heavy tears are now rolling down Sam's cheeks, get stuck for a moment in the short stubble of his beard and then fall onto the coarse fabric of his jacket like rain drops, leaving dark spots in the light brown. His brother cries quietly, years of training, which almost makes it worse.

"I ... Damn it, Sam, you have no idea." He gently pulls Sam in by the neck and presses his face to Sam's tear stained cheeks, craddling him in his arms. He can feel his brother's shoulder blades vibrate in silent shudders under his hands.

They share the embrace for an endless moment and his mind's eye runs through the many embraces they have been envelopped in over the years. In the past, when Sam was little, cuddles were as natural as brushing your teeth, watching staticky TV huddled together on a ratty couch or in the bag of the Impala during endless night drives, laying on the back seat under a scratchy blanket, Sam's soft breaths and warm body his own, personal shield against his father's world of bloody revenge and life-saving violence.

But as Sam got older, he was more pensive about Dean showing affection through touches. It was probably normal that they became fewer at some point, turning into bear hugs. The later ones, he can remember. All of them. Every. single. one.

In this room in the shabby no-tell hotel in Pontiac, Illinois. A pretty hot, dark-haired woman in underwear opening the door and then suddenly behind her - Sam. Huge, muscular with his hair still wet from the shower. Familiar in a way that struck Dean to the core, but also different, altered. Damn, his brother had looked fantastic. After Bobby finally had convinced Sam that Dean wasn't a demon, shapeshifter or any other creature, Dean's arms suddenly had been filled with the giant frame of his big, little brother, so warm and alive and strong, pressing his overwhelmingly huge body into his.

If he is honest, Sam's smell already then had been toxic, in a good way. The scent of sex was still unmistakably clinging to Sam's skin despite the shower, seeping through his thin, slightly damp T-shirt ...

It's still hard for Dean to forgive his brother "Ruby-Gate", but right now he doesn't care. Sam's right. These are their last hours and he is not gonna make them about settling old scores.

Besides, Ruby was a clever little demon. She wasn't that mistaken, when she asked if he and Sam were "together-together". He could have already known it - back then, like Ruby, but he didn't wanted to know and years of training repressing unwanted feelings and thoughts really do wonder.

And how could he? His own brother ... 

 _My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore_  
_Scraping through my head ..._

Probably there were many more hugs in Broward County during Sam's personal "Groundhog Day" remake, but unfortunately he can't remember them.

Though he will be forever grateful for Christmas Eve three years ago, before he disappeared into hell. Thankfully, he had insisted on it.

And then there was the hug in Cold Oak. The name alone makes Dean tremble, lost deep in dark memories. Sam slumped in his arms, the warm, sticky feeling on his palm as he had stroked over Sam's back. Without warning, he is there again, like really there, holding a dead body, in which just a second ago his beautiful brother had lived in, his now empty shell laying heavy in his arms, around them a desert of mud and lonely ghost town ...

But right now - Sam is alive.

With a silent sigh Dean buries his face in Sam's hair and takes a deep breath. "Sammy." He pulls Sam harder against his chest, until every fiber of them is touching. Slowly Sam's breath becomes more even again and their breathing rythms start to align. They are standing so close, that Dean's chest is pressed against Sam's front, that Dean can feel Sam’s lungs working, expanding and deflating ...

From time to time a shiver passes through Sam, but finally his brother cautiously untangles himself from the embrace. A small smile begins to glint under his self-conscious, red-eyed expression. Sam wipes away one last tear and his smile gets brighter, turning into one Dean has never seen on Sam before, and it starts to shine into him, spreading through Dean like an antidote.

 

 

_Everywhere I look you're all I see_

~~_(Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be)_ ~~

 

 

 

✰

 

 

 

 

°


	9. _ _ _ _  /  _ _ _!

*

 

 

Song 1: Jay Gruska - Americana

[Dean's Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trhWnGja5To)

 

Song 2: Trentemoller – Miss you  
             (Link embedded in the chapter!)

 

 

 

**_ _ _ _  /  _ _ _!**

 

 

 

Sam’s smile is fading in front of his eyes, his vision starting to veil his brother behind something rigid. He knows this stonewalled, commanding feeling like the back of his hand. He never had a name for it, but if would have to baptize it now, he would call it “Dean Winchester’s Walls of Denial”.

Though he can’t really remember, he has a hunch, that he has handbuilt them himself - for decades - with some cheering on from John. Oh, hey, they have been beneficial and assisting, escorting him through the day-to-day violence, the lunar orbital moving on without being able to get to know a place or the people, the never-ending family business.

Most likely, he has fostered those walls since he was four, meticulously maintained and nurtured them to keep him, if not safe, than at least sane, not to crumble under the onslaught of his daily share of traumatizing spectacles and the inescapable doom, that Sam or Dad could die on his watch.

And they did! Because he always fucks up. Always. Point proven with this, his last good-for-nothing action. And so he had worked hard on sustaining them, raising them higher and higher, so high he himself couldn’t reach the top of them anymore – only sometimes around 3 am, when too much whisky provided the ladder and he dared to climb up and have a look over the crenellations onto …

Afterwards, he never remembered what he actually saw there, on the other side - probably a horror show of its own and in itself.

But currently, it seems his precious walls have turned against him, closing in on him with a firm embrace. It is not the first time, but probably his last to let Sammy down, because he can not escape the vice grip the fortification has on him, shutting Sam out, who is still smiling at him, but the warm smile clouds up into a concerned look with knit brows.

"Sam, I'm sorry, but ... this might not be a good idea.” Dean doesn’t dare to glance into Sam’s eyes, when his brother's long finger under his jaw try to coax him to look up.

When he finally slowly does, it feels like he is captured at the bottom of a well, seeing white summer clouds sailing by over his head in a speck of blue sky, that is Sam. The walls are just so fucking thick and – perfect, too perfect to let them be penetrated by this radically complicated thing between them. He doesn't want the debris to detonate onto their heads during their last hours.

A touch on his shoulder startling him until familiar strong fingers massage their way up to his neck, trying to relax him, but he is strung so taut by the firm bounds, that … “I am just so fucking scared.” Unintended the words rumble into the quiet space between them and with a helpless sigh Dean finishes. “… that I hurt you..."

A small frown brakes Sam’s calmness. “You already did, Dean! But not with what you think!” Sam is still a little sweaty from the fight, red eyes sad and apologetic at the same time. Becalmingly, Sam smooths a finger over the scruff on Dean's jaw, sliding closer, very close to his lips.

He can feel Sam's steady gaze studying him. “Tell me you don’t want this, Dean, and I stop!” His brother's fingertips on his skin still for a moment, both of them waiting for Dean's answer. He tries to avoid Sam’s gaze, but he can feel the warm glow of Sam's eyes on his face, reminding him of a campfire in the dark, of quiet nights together on the road, just the two of them, or in a motel room, sharing a beer whilst quietly researching next to each other.

And he is bound … 

[Miss you - Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xV5WL86Uq0c)

 

Sam's fingers are trembling a little as they glide from Dean’s jaw over his cheeks to the ridge of his nose. They pause there and Dean flinches, because he always had loathed the freckles his brother is loving so much. Sam is meandering over them as if he wants to chart them. "They are like stars." Sam mumbles. "But I can touch them ..." The innocence of the caress erases a little part of the prisoner and the monster residing inside of him. And when Sam carefully smooths down his short spiky hair, a little noise close to a sob escapes his mouth.

The strokes change to a light squeeze at the base of his neck, calloused fingers from hours of weapon cleaning scratching the soft skin and his hackles raise until the caring rubs sink deeper, slip under his skin. It's like Sam is caressing something in him, that might be his soul and after some moments of nervous hesitation, Dean nestles into the security of Sam's cool hand.

Millimeter by millimeter, he can feel the thickness of the walls melt, leaving him dismantled and bare. With a small sigh, Sam pulls him carefully to his chest and Dean buries his much too raw and vulnerable shape in the layers of Sam, listening to his brother's heart beat.

There is no blood desire, only this silent moment. Sam's big paws cradling his head so delicately and gently that it hurts - and he doesn't know much about Love, the one with the big L - but maybe, this is it.

Another sigh falls from his lips and gently Sam leans back to look at him. With a long drawn out breath, Dean tries to open up, allows his brother to see through his armour. Sam's gaze is like a ray of light warming his heart, his damn undead heart that skips some beats and then starts to pump vigorously again- as if he was still alive.

Warily, Dean takes Sam’s hand and places it over his undershirt, moving his fingers until they are right over his heart. “Can you feel it?” It’s more a breath than a sentence, because there is a chance, that Sam doesn’t sense anything and his heart is actually dead, but Sam furrows his brows, his face tilted to the side, entirely immersed in listening. A fascinated expression glides over his features as he nods. "I can feel it. Your heart beats ...," he whispers. “I didn’t know, that …” Dean hates to extinguish the gleam of hope. “Maybe it is only now, since I haven’t drunken … anyone … so far.”

With a careful movement he pulls Sam closer, immersing himself in the smooth little sliver of skin, where Sam’s clavicle is unclad. A tremble runs through Sam's muscles, followed by a little mewl. They are are so close that Dean feels Sam's breath, quick and warm in his face. He raises his hand to Sam's face and apparently Sam's skin is magnetic, because Dean can't stop running his finger tips over his jaw, gently brushing over the rough stubble near his lips.

Sam turns his head and kisses his palm and it is weird, and charming, and intoxicating. Breathlessly, in the literal sense, since he can hear and feel Sam holding his breath, Dean anticipates, that Sam is going to kiss him, already feeling Sam’s mouth on his, but Sam reaches for Dean’s hand and pushes it under the multiple layers of shirts hugging his huge frame.

"Is that really okay, Sam?" Shudders pass through the way too cold muscles under his finger tips. Dean wants to pull back, unsure of his own skin temperature, but Sam holds his wrist in place. "Please!!!" And so Dean cautiously lets his hand wander beyond, sinking into the hard planes and furrows of Sam's abs, smooths over a depression that runs across the muscle strands under Sam's ribs. Tentatively, Dean glides his fingertips over the scar.

Sam’s aroused glow flatlines. Eleven years ago, one year before Sam went to Stanford, there had been this vampire nest in Cedar Grove. The Alpha nearly had gotten the drop on Sam, ripping open his left side with his teeth. Dean had taken the machete from Dad, who had been to shell-shocked to react and had chopped the Alpha’s head off with one clean slice.

He knows Sam’s mind is at the same dark place. “Did Dad ever say sorry?” Dean mumbles against Sam’s throat. “No.” Sam hisses back and Dean nods grimly. “When I was patching you up, he was desperately trying to seek forgiveness in half a bottle of Jack.” He can hear Sam huff. "These hours, when we had to wait, if you would ... turn ..." Sam's hand in his neck pulls him in impossibly closer and it is strange how much he feels like the younger brother right now.

“Does it still hurt sometimes?” He stops his exploration under Sam's clothes, wondering how unfamiliar Sam's body is to him like this. "Sometimes …On rainy days.” Sam takes Dean’s hand and positions it back onto the scar. “Not right now.”

Compared to Sam’s other bruises, that map his body like a war torn country, this is one of the biggest, but Dean can hardly feel the scar tissue. He probably did a good job stitching Sam back together. In another life he might have become a doctor. In another life ...

Dean's hand reaches the lower edge of the scar and after a short hesitation he lets it slide deeper. Sam jolts up with a broken gasp as he reaches the jut of his hips. Hesitantly, Dean slides one finger under the waistband of Sam's jeans, wrenching a tiny moan from his throat, his own breathes getting more heated. The rough denim is an exciting contrast to the smooth skin of over Sam's hard hip bones and muscles.

Dean says leaning back, scanning Sam. He knows his brother better then any other person on this planet and now with his heightened senses, he can read every signal and it is weird, especially since he doesn’t really, really know this aspect of Sam …

He has seen Sam flirting with women and maybe one or two men over the years and it always has been captivating, alluring. If it was in a bar, it actually seldomly happened in these dives, Dean had retreated to another corner of the dim, smoked-up room just to watch Sam from afar, this unfamiliar side of his brother, with a proud glow and little pang, that he called horny and found himself some distraction of his own in a nice, warm body.

It has never been embarrassing for Dean to covet anyone, but this is Sam - and he wants him like he's never wanted anyone before. "Dean, I need to hear you say, that you want this." A mixture of amusement, impatience and fear is reflected on Sam's face.

"Alright. I do." And because it sounds like church, he adds, "Fuck, I want you, Sam." He clings tighter to Sam's long arms, tugging his brother against him as if he wanted to imprint his body in Sam's. Wrapped up in Sam, Dean doesn't have any room for strange discomfort or even to take a breath, but he doesn't need it anyway, he just needs Sam and Dean hopes that he'll never have to let him go again, that they both just vanish off this earth tonight, intertwined as they are right now.

Sam whispers: "Tonight, Dean ... I want ..." and encouraged Dean runs his finger tips over the depression between Sam's hip and groin, frizzy hair and ... He pauses jerkily at the worn cotton of Sam's boxer shorts. Without warning, weirdness gives place to his slowly claiming arrousal, the taboo envelopping him again, seizing him.

The brothers look at each other. Sam seems to misinterpret his hesitation, because under the warm affection, there is now a growing feral tension in Sam's gaze, as if he wants to lure out Dean's brute side to come out and play. There is hunger flashing Sam's eyes as he bows down towards Dean, his dilated pupils roaming back and forth between Dean’s eyes, checking for consent. Suddenly, feeling shy Dean closes them, bracing himself as if this was his first kiss ever - and maybe it is, because it feels like planets are about to collide.

There is Sam's heavy breath on his lips and Dean could saturate himself on this alone. “Tell me you don’t want this, Dean, and I stop!” - "Sam ..." It's strangled, but it is enough. A brush of cold, chapped lips, not really a kiss, but Dean feels weightless and floating in its boundless beauty of having Sam so intimately close.

Sam's fingers on his jaw and he tilts his head up, closing his lips more firmly over Dean’s, short stubble over soft skin stabbing into him and he can sense every cell of Sam, feels himself shattering into little atoms.

Slowly Sam leans back again, his closed lids opening. “Tell me you don’t want ..." He whispers, then sighs. "I can't stop, Dean!" It should probably be a warning, but it comes out as helpless as Dean feels and they just both close their eyes again, Sam's lips gracing Dean’s, gliding slowly along the seam up to the cupid’s bow, their noses brushing and Sam just rests there for long moments, breathing against Dean’s mouth with choked little pants.

In his life, there have been plenty of people telling Dean how gorgeous, how kissable his lips were, how handsome he looked, how exciting his bad boy attitude was, but nobody had ever made him feel that ... loved.

Sam caresses with his lips the outer lines of Dean's mouth until the corner, a little bristeling sound when their scruff rasps against each other and this is new to Dean and fucking exciting.

There is a little flash of tongue, just at the line where Dean's lips meet each other, with it comes a short piercing pain. First, Dean thinks it's his fucked up teeth, but then with a jolt he remembers his split lip from their fight before. The thought throws him hard and out of the fragile web that Sam and he had spun in this terrible refrigerator for some precious fleeting moments.

With a growl Dean rips his eyes wide open. “Fuck, Sam!” He can barely restrain himself to not shove Sam off of him again. “What do you think, you are you doing?”

"Dean, it's an option." Sam has often begged him for things, but never like that. "No, Sam!" - "It is actually our best option." Shaking his head, Dean presses an trembling index finger over Sam's lips, he is not sure, if he is just fucking angry or fucking scared. "No! ... You have no idea what it feels like, Sam. No!”

Finally, Sam's shoulders sink down in a defeated shrug. "Okay." But the flickering in Sam's eyes tells Dean, that his brother has only given up his boldly stupid idea for the moment.

Sam reels him in again, bending over him and Dean smells the bead of sweat running down Sam's neck to his collarbone as Sam licks the thin skin behind Dean's ear. "Dean?" Sam's voice is a whispered promise. "If I can't ... then I want to see you, I want to hear you..." Sam lets his voice sink deeper until it's just a rumble, pushing himself even closer above Dean.

Sam’s eyes are shamelessly roaming over Dean's upper body. His little brother has never looked so big, looming over him, holding himself up with one hand against the wall right next to Dean's head, the other scratching lightly over Dean’s chest, over his stomach down to the torn hem of his undershirt.

Surprisingly rough, Sam pushes Dean against the wall, their faces are so close, that Dean can't see Sam's eyes clearly anymore, just a flurry of green-hazel-blue. He can feel each word in his face. "I-want-to-see-you-come." The words cut straight into Dean's loins and even if he just said, that he won't, he wants to eat Sam, fuck him - or get fucked by him. His cock throbs hard in his jeans and mercilessly, the vampire fangs shoot out - as far as they will go.

"Do you want that?" Hypnotized, Dean nods. The grip with which Sam grabs Dean by the hair, pulls a long drawn groan from Dean. Slowly, Sam pulls him away from him. Probably, the fucking vampire teeth.

"And you?" For a moment, he bares the cruel spikes in his mouth towards Sam. "Are _you_ still sure you want this, Sam?" 

 

 

 

*

 

 


	10. (That the inevitable end was near)

°

 

 

Song: 30 seconds to Mars – Alibi

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uun1fIDEk0s)

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/Thirty-seconds-to-mars-alibi-lyrics)

 

 

 

~~We both could see crystal clear~~

**(That the inevitable end was near)**

 

 

 

 

"Are _you_ still sure you want this, Sam?" 

Sam stares at Dean, at the pointed needles, his eyes wide, wide open, then - finally - he nods, hesitantly at first, subsequently more vehement.

With a violent jerk Dean opens his belt and pulls it out of his jeans. "Here!” Dean opens Sam's long fingers and presses the leather strap in them, closes his hand over the belt.

They have to keep the wild something in him in check. He does not yet know, what he is capable of and he must not hurt Sam. That is the last taboo and the break of the other is already blatant enough. "Gag me."

As if in a trance, Sam is still staring at his mouth, the terrible teeth Dean tries to hide as best he can. "But, Dean, you ..." - "Do it, Sam." It comes out so hoarse that he's not even sure Sam understood him.

_I fell apart, but got back up again  
And then I fell apart, but got back up again, yeah_

"You're driving!" Dean puts his hand on Sam's fist with the belt, squeezes it once softly. He's actually trying to reassure Sam, but when he feels the familiar huge back of his brother's hand under his fingers, cool and rough, he has to admit that this is probably more of a reinsurance for himself.

With his palm, he feathers over a long scar stretching from Sam's index finger to his knuckles. His fault, one of many. Shapeshifter, silver knife and he didn't hit it right in the chest the first time after Sam had managed to get the shifter in a headlock. He was also the one who stiched the long cut back together. Unfortunately one of his less good sutures.

"Sorry, that I ..." Carefully, Dean brushes over the relief of stitches, white on red frozen skin, feels under it the pulse in Sam's thumb accelerating, probably because Sam is angry. His breath is stroking over Dean's hair, increasing in line with his heartbeat, but his brother doesn't move.

Dean wants to say nothing more to spare Sam the sight of those teeth. Sam is still not moving, like he is really frozen now, still close, though with no indication, that he is on board with Dean's idea.

`Damn it, Dean Winchester, you've got it all wrong!` Sam gives him way too much time to reinterpret everything, to doubt. "If ... if you don't want ..." It comes out broken and coarse, because his throat suddenly is way to dry at the thought that there is a chance that they have come so far, but he still might not be able to touch Sam. Maybe and very understandably his brother has changed his mind and …

"No, Dean, I..." Thoughtfully Sam shakes his head and although Dean with his new senses can read Sam even better than before, he doesn't understand what his brother is aiming at. Sam withdraws his hand, then ice-cold fingers are ghosting over his, as if Dean were the fragile one of them, brushing over Dean’s bare shoulders, his throat, his neck, leaving traces of hot electricity on his skin. He can feel Sam's blood thrumming through the touch of his fingertips.

Even though Sam's eyes are lost in thought, he hunches over him with a fierce determination that lets the hunter in Dean instinctively wanna find cover. "I want ..." Behind the glint in Sam's eyes, Dean discovers a trace of his brother’s typical stubbornness and sighs internally.

_No warning sign, no alibi  
We’re fading faster than the speed of light_

To cover his flinch, he growls: "Now put this damn gag on me. Don’t wanna bite you. I don't want to hurt you at ... whatever we do." He makes it sound particularly brazen, but Sam just keeps looking at him with a now resolutely burning gaze. "No, Dean, it would even be good, if..."

"Forget it." He should have known, that Sam wouldn’t give up this crazy idea of his that easily. Dean pushes himself of the wall and past Sam. It's not gonna work, how could he have thought it would. Shame eats at him, almost as hot as the still burning desire for Sam.

“Wait, Dean!” A strong grip on his shoulder is holding him back and turns him on the spot. Sam towers over him like a giant and his gaze is like a flamethrower pointed at Dean. For the first time Dean is almost a little afraid of his brother and their play with fire. He's never seen Sam so uninhibited, trapped in a hunger that simply kidnapped the controlled, pensive Sam Winchester. His fingers tingle from the oppressed desire to grab Sam.

"I want ..." Sam raises his hand with the belt in it. With that typical highly concentrated Sam look, he holds Dean's head in place, while he puts the worn leather over his mouth. Has Sam's hand always been so damn big? It covers half of his face.

The power with which Sam presses the broad belt onto his lips has something feverish about it, leaves no doubt what Sam wants right now. With a jerk he tightens the buckle to Dean's back of the head, the metal pressing hard into his scalp.

The next moment his head is torn back so that he has to look up. Right in Sam's eyes, assessing him like prey and yet he is the vampire. Every instinct in Dean struggles against being restrained, every trained impulse in him wants to attack, fend Sam off.

But the relentless twitch from his insides to his toes, speaks clearly of how much he actually likes it. His cock is throbbing hard in his jeans, it shouldn't be so damn sexy. The finally unleashed desire is unstoppable, and it even sweeps away Dad's mantra of "Take care of Sammy.” Yes, he would take care of his brother ...

  _Made our choice, a trial by fire  
To battle is the only way we feel... alive_

A movement that briefly separates them and Dean grumbles a few rough words, which even he doesn't know what they actually should mean.  
  
Then Sam is back, his pupils are big like black spotlights and flicker restlessly back and forth between Dean's. And there is a sliver of the same little doubt also nagging at his own mind.

Dean gently puts an index finger on Sam's lips and tries to give his face a reassuring look, which probably is not gonna work, since his mouth is restrained by a leather strap. For the first time in his life, Dean wishes that Sam could read his mind, see through the vampire, understand telepathically what he can't say.

Unexpectedly, Sam seems to get his signals, because he slowly drops his head towards Dean's neck. He can feel Sam's ragged breaths, then cracked lips cautiously caressing over the stubble on his throat. It’s rough and sensual at the same time and Dean closes his eyes, while Sam is slowly dragging them to the ground.

Sam makes Dean lie down on the concrete floor, then sinks down on top of him. For a moment, Dean's face is right in front of Sam’s crotch and involuntarily, Dean sees how his jeans bulge, sees Sam's dick countcontoured in the washed-out fabric and Holy Shit!

A little shamefaced, Sam looks away briefly and puts his forearm over his lap as he follows Dean's gaze. And it's a little weird, a little very weird, but - Damn! They never have really cared much about social rules. So why start now, when Sam's clock is ticking.

A strip of blank skin flashes between Sam's jeans and the layers of shirts and jackets. Dean wavers between concern and this damn, all-dominating desire. His eyes don't leave Sam’s for a moment, their gazes entangled as their bodies are and Dean is diving deep into the feeling of Sam's lively body above him, the weight on his chest.

Slowly Sam approaches until their faces are only inches apart - He's close, so, so close. - stroking his lips over Dean’s cheek, scrapes over scrub, over the gag. And Sam,bites the into the belt, and then the little fucker claws his fingers into Dean's hair, pulling his head back. It's playful, but it still stings a bit and it is strangely grounding for him.

With the pull, Sam brings him right to the border between pain and pleasure. Grabbing both of Dean’s wrists in one hand, Sam is holding them in place over Dean’s head. Impulsively, Dean rubs against Sam, whose body is much warmer again, thrusts upwards and briefly their hips touch. "Do you like that?" Sam's whispered words in his ear sound soft, but underneath is a kind of dark vow that makes Dean’s skin crawl. And he didn't know, but - yes!

Maybe it's the despair of death that makes Sam so wild, but he can smell the pheromones that rage through his brother’s veins, can almost hear the nerve endings crackle - lust claiming Sam like flames a dry forest. His brother can't die, because Sam is on fire.

He's never seen Sam like this before. His abstinent brother doesn't seem innocent at all right now and... Fuck! Everything has gone to shit, but these moments … It’s nearly worth experiencing Sam like this, feeling him, seeing him.

His teeth are pressing sharp and uncomfortably into the leather and he needs a break so he doesn't grab the back of his head and tear their safety net down.

Sam licks his lips provocatively and slowly and Dean wants to tear the leather from his mouth and kiss his brother, immerse himself in Sam until they are no longer two people, but only one body of raw, unbridled energy.

Startled, he brings a little distance between their torsos and sees Sam rubbing over the bulge in his jeans. Dean once swallows hard, then lifts one of Sam's legs over his thigh, spreads his brother out over him, who rubs his hip against him with one, two harsh rolling movements and a broken loose sigh.

With a wild grin Sam, the beast, licks the gag, pushing his tongue between the leather and Dean's lips. Under the bitter tanning aroma of the leather, Sam's taste explodes in his mouth, including a hint of whisky from the bar.

The premonition of how the blood of his brother would taste wakes the vampire in him with a force that he must close his eyes to regain control. Sam is irresistible. He would be lost - forever.

Another rolling thrust of Sam's hip against his makes him tremble and Dean hectically tries to draw in more air, before he remembers, that he doesn’t need it anymore.

_I fell apart, but got back up again  
And then I fell apart, but got back up again, yeah_

“I want you, Dean! Fuck, I want you!" It's like a flare rocket in Deans head. Climbing steeply into the night sky, exploding with a glaring reverberation, as it extinguishes a few heartbeats later in the darkness. 

Dean's cock is now so hard that he should actually blow through the worn fabric of his old jeans. Out of impulse, he greedily gasps for air again, inhales Sam as if he could drink him, curses the gag and yet knows that without it he would devour his brother.

Impatiently, Dean pushes his hips up against Sam's, feels the muscles working in Sam’s thighs, feels the hard outline of his cock. A shiver passes through his brother's big body and Sam ejects a rough groan. Grabbing him by the hips with both hands, Sam pulls himself even tighter against Dean, squeezing his thigh between Dean's legs.

"Nnnhnnn." Involuntarily Dean gasps and Sam repeats the same movement with a forbiddenly provoking grin. Then he turns his body a bit and now he can feel Sam's cock hard on his belly.

Sam's big body above him is warm and alive, a force of nature, a wave that just sweeps him along. They move with each other, against each other like a whirlwind of senseless lust. He can't say how long he hasn't had sex, but the desire shoots through him as if it wants to catch up decades, and isn't that actually the real point.

Tough luck for Sam that he has vampire powers and can grab his giant of a brother and manhandles him just the way he wants. With a loud moan he pushes Sam's hips above him exactly where he wants them to be and thrusts. Then, with an inhumanly fast movement, he grabs Sam's shoulders and throws him on his back. The impact forces all the air out of Sam's lungs, but Dean has eyewitnessed his brother taking way more violent blows.

Avidly, Dean pushes himself over his brother, who looks wide-eyed up at him and he gives himself a moment to enjoy the view. Then, he bends over Sam because he can't help it, wants so desperately to kiss his brother, but only the leather touches Sam's lips. He tilts his head and rubs his nose over Sam's jaw, over the stubble until he feels the soft skin of Sam's cheeks.

Dean wants to say “I fucking love you, Sam!”, but out comes only grumbled a 'Mhmmmhhhmmmmm.'

"Here," Sam pushes out breathlessly and unbuttons his pants. "Dean, please, ..." Sam looks so desperate, his forehead wrinkled, as if he would die if he doesn't touch him immediately. Sam pushes his hand towards his zipper, gets too impatient, undoes the flaps himself and grabs Dean's wrist. Dean's first stroke over the damp fabric of Sam's boxer shorts, shocks him deeply and in unexpected ways.

He hasn't felt like a virgin in a long time, but now with Sam's hard cock under the worn jeans, he is feels unsure. Dean has never really touched a man except himself and Sam feels huge and foreign as if his dick is not really part of his familiar brother. He hesitates briefly, but an encouraging moaned "Yeah!" from Sam pushes him over and he let's his hand glide into Sam’s pants. With a louder moan, Sam twists in the neon light as Dean starts to experiment with more pressure, coaxing more of these feral little noises out of his brother.

With every moan Sam pushes a cloud of condensed breath towards him and Dean lets his hand slide under the wet fabric of Sam's boxer shorts. Even if the head is already slick with precum, the skin over the shaft feels velvety soft - over hard steel.

Sam feels different though and it's not just his size and breadth. He's not circumcised, unlike Dean.

Dad explained it to him once. He was probably about eight, Sammy four, when Dad had put them both in the bathtub together after a two-day-haul to the Texan border. Dad had lifted Sammy out of the tub and wrapped him up in a towel. He sensed that somehow it was a bit of a funny question, but half hidden in the white foam and the lukewarm water, it finally had just slipped out. "Dad, why does Sammy look different?"

His father had frowned, paying more attention to unfelting the wet strands of Sam's hair without actually hurting Sam, who looked at their father with a very skeptical expression. "Your brother is much younger than you." John had replied absent-mindedly.

"I mean ..." Instantly the question had been embarrassing to him and he had just pointed to himself. "Well, there between the legs ..." Dad's face had relaxed and then unexpected, seldomly heard laughter shook John Winchester's chest, was thrown back and forth by the tiles of the steamy bathroom.

After Dad had calmed down again, his gaze had become sad, turned into his typical Dad-gaze again. "We had you circumcised when you were a year old, but with Sammy... there wasn't any time after ..."

The thought of Dad has put a damper on his lust. Suddenly this seems even more forbidden with Sam, more forbidden than the laws that prohibit incest in all 51 states of the USA and -  
  
"Deeeeeaaaaaan," Sam's moaning echoes in Dean's ears and he drives his index fingers over Sam's open lips. He has never heard Sam unleashed like this before, uncontrolled. It's surreal. But with this plea, he is back in the game, Sam humming needy with every of his strokes.

They are a well-honed team and if Dean had ever allowed himself to have such explicit thoughts about his brother, then he could have known that sex with Sam is like a rehearsed close combat sequence. They react to each other like magnets. Their bodies know each other so well, were trained to fight mercilessly with each other in training and to protect each other during a hunt. And yet ... this is different, like other universe different.  
  
And yet, his instinct reacts to the slightest emotional change in Sam. He has never felt anyone so clearly. Sex has never been so ... emotional and it's just a handjob. Still, he feels how with each of Sam's desperate touches on his hand, how with each moan something of his own rough shell is breaking away, turning his inside out and it is terribly beautiful. It is the most extreme and powerful experience, he has ever had. And he knows with absolute certainty that it has nothing to do with his heightened vampire senses.

 _Took our chance, crashed and burned_  
_No we'll never ever learn_

"Dean..." Sam's lips move slightly rough under Dean's index finger. Sam has never said his name like this before. It sounds like "forever" and Dean saves the moment like an audio photo for better times, for bad times and for all the eternity that threatens him if he doesn't off himself…

Dean feels something in him open up and there is the strong impulse to keep that door shut, but he actually doesn't want anymore. Maybe it has something to do with their bodies being so on the edge, so their souls are unable to hide anymore, don’t want to.  
  
They have always been very intimate with each other, somehow had to living in each other's pocket like they did, but that is not the point. It had changed, when the fighting between Sam and Dad had started in earnest, during that the closeness hadn't been as easy anymore. Then - Stanford! And then a long row of moments, when they were carried by the night, the purring of the Impala, the endless black asphalt guiding them.

If this fatal night has shown one thing, then that Sam means more to him than words like brother, ally can grasp, not even soul mate hits it. As different as they are, they are the two sides of one medal. They just fit together perfectly - both totally fucked up.

 

 

_So here we are, the witching hour_

_The quickest tongue to divide and devour_  
  
_Divide and devour_

 

 

 

 

 

tbc

°


	11. I have a brother

°

 

 

 

 

Song: The first time – U2

[Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEIacDGPNws)  
(The whispering in the background is just so fitting for this scene.)

[Lyrics](https://genius.com/U2-the-first-time-lyrics)

 

 

 

 **I have a brother**  
_When I'm a brother in need_

  
 

This is the first time.

And their last.

"Up," Sam commands roughly. “Floors too fucking cold!” And when Dean doesn't obey immediately, Sam pulls him up with unexpected force, pressing him with his whole body against one of the glass shelves with the blood preserves.

The neon light behind Sam turns his hair into a halo. And shortly Dean entertains the thought of Sam going to Heaven after this, but … they both have probably booked the Hell Tour again. And angels are dicks anyway.

Shortly Dean feels the blood enticing presence like a siren call, then Sam encloses him and Dean's whole world consists only of Sam’s clothes, Sam’s cold sweaty hair and skin, the broad chest of his brother and he could stay there forever.

Slowly Dean leans even further forward into Sam. Gently, he lets his hands run over Sam's broad shoulders, the fabric of the jacket rough under his hands. Even the layers and layers of flanel and cotton and muscles can’t hide how fragile Sam’s shoulder blades feel.

He would love to feel Sam's skin, but every degree of body heat is precious, means a couple of more minutes with his brother. He has touched Sam many times, an "Are you okay?" pat on the shoulder, a quick pat-down checking for potential wounds, a firm hug when on the numerous occassions one of them has just barely survived. But this is something else, it's like he's not only feeling Sam, but Sam's life story - their life story.

_I spend my whole time running  
He spends his running after me_

Dean's hand thieves under Sam’s jacket, smoothes over the soft flannel, the thick muscle strands on the lower back, Sam's upper body rising and falling with faster coming breaths. And Sam can't die at all. His Sasquatch brother is too big and strong for death.

Dean leans back and catches Sam's gaze, which alternates between shy, wild and loving. But there's something else. As much as Sam tries to cover up his fear, in his piercing hazel-green-blue lurks desperation, the desperation of only having hours left, perhaps just one more, to say everything he needs Dean to know, to do everything they were too stupid to give each other in the years prior. 

His fingers are following Sam’s spine and after a short hesitation, Dean slides lower, strokes over the back pockets of Sam's jeans and a shiver runs through Sam in his arms. They are so close, that Dean can’t distinguish between their bodies anymore.

If someone had asked him the day before yesterday: "If Sam has only one hour to live, what would you do?" He probably would have replied that he would wanna drive with Sam through the night until they would find a little diner, have some burgers or maybe salad and a couple of beers.

Carefully Dean slides his fingers under the waistband of Sam's jeans. They have begun to tremble and he doesn't know why, because he's not cold and Sam's body still radiates far too much of his precious warmth into this terribly white chamber.

Sam is smoke and oil, a smell they always have hanging in their clothes, no matter how often they shot them through the machines in the Laundromats. But there is also a fruity-sweet something, probably some of Sam's fancy hair products, dissolved in cheap hotel soap and the familiar-confusing smell like autumn, like falling, decaying leaves and last sun rays, and isn’t that a nice analogy. This scent has always been Sam's essence. His brother had already smelled like this when he was a baby.

Sometimes at night, when they were both sitting in the back of the Impala, Dad's fingers drumming onto the steering wheel to the beat of Led Zeppelin, Dean would slowly, slowly drop his head to the side as if he had fallen asleep and bury his face in Sam's soft hair.    

He had been so absorbed in Sam’s smell, that his hips have lost the rhythm they have found with Sam's strokes. "You’re okay?" Sam asks carefully and Dean nods, which makes Sam sigh with relief. "So much time, just irrevocably gone …", he adds. The pain in Sam's eyes hits Dean straight in the heart.

_I have a lover  
a lover like no other_

A current pulls him to Sam like an undertow, a red maelstrom sweeping him along, whether he wants it or not. But he wants. His brother is heavy, enveloping him like a blanket.

The hot-red desire mixes with what Dean can only call unconditional love. Sam floods his body, their hard breaths mingle interlaced with little whimpers of more and broken groans.

"I'm not made of glass, Dean." And as if Dean had only waited for this signal, he exhales a deep guttural moan, nods and then pulls Sam back into him by the collar of his jacket and lets loose all of his pent-up longing, his hands are roaming over Sam’s body with unrestrained lust, stroking him more fervently and he hears every little sigh, every twitch echoing through him.

Only when he feels Sam’s feverish hands starting to explore down his crack, he freezes. Actually he's not shy when it comes to sex, but this makes him unsure.

He likes rough sex, but the person falling apart under his hands is his brother. And it’s magical. And it’s still feeling fucking forbidden.

_My father is a …_

In addition, there is this strange presence of his master mixing with his excitement, a kind of background noise that always pulls him back and out of the moment like a dog on a leash and he can't get rid of the dull feeling that Boris is enjoying this.

And another presence mixes up with his thoughts and this one's much worse, much more disturbing. John. He can't prevent his father's face from appearing again and again in front of his mind’s eye.

"Get your brother out of here as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!"

It is in every fibre of his being to do exactly that, but ... his gaze falls on the iron door. Even if he would drink all the blood in here, even the Hulk wouldn't get this door down.

Sam thrusts one more time, then stops. "Everything okay?“ His breath still comes erratic, but Sam’s forehead now has these typcial worried wrinkles.

Right now Dean wishes, they would just be in a soft bed, in a warm room and have time to slowly get to know each other, this new thing between them. This is not how he wants their first and last time to be like.

_Gave me the keys to his kingdom coming  
Gave me …_

He wants to say, "I just had to think about Dad." But luckily the gag doesn't allow for it.

His eyes wander over Sam's frame, to the sharp jut of his hips, where his clothes have ridden up and his eyes widen as they fall on the red handprint-shaped bruise on Sam's hip.

"Mmmmrmmmmh!" Sam follows his gaze. "Seriously?" With  a little brother eye roll, Sam lowers his jeans even more, so that the strip of coarse hair leading down into his trousers become visible. Then Sam takes Dean's hand and puts it with emphasis and a rough squeeze back on the bruise on his hip, he pushes up against Dean and rubs his groin hard on Dean’s hip.

Sam looks at him seriously for a minute, nods, shakes his head. "I want this - with us," Sam whispers, a grin scurrying across his face and Sam scratches his fingers over the bulge in Dean's jeans and Dean's hips are pushing involuntarily hard into Sam’s. "And so are you." His brother smiles.

Sam's grin is getting bigger, hair hanging in his face in sweaty strands and his eyes are dark, only a small ring of Sam's indefinable blue-green-brown iris left around the blown pupils. Dean is sure that Sam has never looked so damn sexy.

The jeans under Dean’s fingers are soft and worn and Dean wraps his hands around strong muscled globes and after one tense breath to steady himself he grabs Sam's ass with both hands and presses himself into Sam again, presses Sam against him. Moans fall from Sam's mouth now like rain and thunder and storm and he feels Sam tense, then swallow hard.

Sam dressed in eight layers, he himself almost naked on the other hand - except for his dirty undershirt. He can hear the fabric, the zippers of their jeans rubbing against each other in the rhythm of their movements. It's the strangest kind of sex he's ever had. And sex has never been so important - literally shocking and breathtaking in its taboo.

Sam licks over his neck up to his collarbone and Dean presses his eyes close with a long drawn out moan, immediately willing them _open again._ This is their first time doing … these things to each other, with each other. And it is inevitably the last time this will happen and he doesn't want to miss a moment of it.

Abruptly Sam scrapes his fingernails over Dean's chest. “I want to feel you coming." Sam whispers and then licks at Dean's ear, opening his throat up to him and the animal in Dean wants to hunt, feel the tendons and veins and muscles on Sam's neck break under his lips.

Sam feverishly flips open the buttons of Dean’s jeans and Dean can hear him spit in his hand, the dirty sound, leaving him breathless, when Sam pushes his hand into his boxer briefs.

Sam's hand is bigger than his, but through cleaning weapons and digging out graves the calluses are at similar places to his, and they are rubbing rough and provocatively close to his most sensitive points on the tip of his cock and he has to pull himself together to not grab Sam's hand and lead him right there.

A restraint rumble escapes Dean's throat and he would love to rip this damn gag out of his mouth and grab Sam’s face, lick over his throat. Just lick, not bite. Taste the sweat that so intensively penetrates him like something physical as if Sam is taking possession of him.

_When I feel myself going down  
I just call and he comes around _

"I know you love me." Although Sam pants it out with a moan, Sam says it so naturally, that after a moment of being overwhelmed Dean doesn't try to lie to Sam or to himself and nods.

"You're the only person I've ever really loved." Sam looks at him openly, with a serious face that makes his brother look eight and eighty at the same time.

If Dean is completely honest with himself, then he had to hear it, because he probably hasn't really believed Sam yet. His damn little brother! Typical for Sam! In a completely hopeless situation, detonating such emotional bombs.

"You are often a jerk and a macho and sometimes I really hate you, but ... I love you as well." Sam pushes it out over an irregular moan and it stirs something in Dean, touches him deeply, inside, where nobody else is allowed to go, often not even him.

As ambivalent as this declaration of love is, it nestles softly and warmly inside of him, in a place that was long abandoned and dark and cold. At the moment this room consists only of Sam and their intertwined bodies.

A huge hand envelops his own over Sam’s cock. Sam’s pulse is throbbing like a living jack hammer under his finger tips and his whole body is now demanding, forcing Dean into a rhythm.

Dean’s other hand is on Sam’s hip and he can feel the muscles there flex and flutter, while Sam’s cock is getting even impossibly harder, his thrusts now more uncontrolled and erratic, his moans deeper, guttural and then Sam is holding his breath. Dean can feel Sam’s cock throbbing, when he strokes down to the base and he knows this feeling.  

Sam is close.

"Deeeean!" It sounds more like a warning and Dean shudders. With a deep groan Sam buries his face in the hollow of Dean’s neck, biting the soft skin hard enough to bruise, just shy of breaking.

Dean’s finger are slicking up with cum and he is carefully stroking Sam through the waves, who is still violently shivering and shuddering, only slowly coming down and Dean breaths in the smell of sex and Sam.  

Every single one of his sharpened senses is full of Sam Sam Sam Sam. He places his forehead against Sam's temple, at the spot where the blood has seeped through the make-shift bandage and breathes in again, sucking in Sam's scent of blood, but first and foremost the years, decades, they have spent with each other, sinking into them.  

Sam is still panting, when Dean can feel him reaching for the buckle. “Fuck, I wanna kiss you, Dean!” Sam breathes in his ear, nipping at Dean’s jaw and then blinding him with his eyes full of need.

Finally, Sam’s lips have lost the horrible blue tinge, which has given way to a lively red again and Dean wants Sam’s mouth. He wants it so bad, but he has to catch Sam’s quick and clever fingers, which are just opening the buckle of the belt.

Swiftly, he wipes his sticky hand on Sam’s boxer shorts and with restraint vampire force, he catches Sam’s fingers in one hand, the other cupping his brother’s face and he waits until Sam’s attention is fully focused on him and then shakes his head with sad eyes.

 _And I threw away the key_  
_Yeah, I threw away the key_

“It’s okay, Dean, it’s okay. I got you!”

Slowly, he lets his fingers slide over his too cold lips, carefully opens them at the seam and pushes slowly, slowly in. It’s warm and wet and he can feel the sharp ridges of Sam’s teeth, nipping at his finger tips, then the slide of Sam’s slick tongue, when Sam begins to suck on his fingers and that’s it. Pleasure penetrates him like pieces of broken glass.

 

_But for the first time_  
I feel love

 

 

_*_

 

 

 

°


	12. Never opened myself this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing the unthinkable is the real challenge for Dean.

°

 

 

Song: Metallica - Nothing else matters

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YR-_3tl6wHg>

Lyrics: <https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/metallica/nothingelsematters.html>

 

 

 

 

 

 **Never opened myself this way**  
_(Life is ours, we live it our way)_  


 

 

Dean’s knees buckle as full body shudders run over his skin. His orgasm hits him with a deep-tissue force, but Sam holds him tight as he helplessly chokes on deep moans, his faced pressed into too many layers of clothes over Sam’s chest.

Sam has his face buried in Dean’s hair, kissing his head, his neck, his throat, his cheeks, murmering “It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay. I got you.” , while the muscles in Dean’s groin are still clenching and unclenching in nearly painful waves, shaking him to the core.

 

 _So close no matter how far_  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
  


Dean leans heavily on Sam’s chest, completely envelopped in his brother’s embrace. For some precious moments he lets himself drift in the whiteout of any rational thought, just feels Sam’s body rise and fall under him with each breath, listens to the slowly calming down drum of his brother’s heart, lets himself drown in the smell of sweat and sex and Sam.

But the welcome brain fog drifts away as he comes down from his high and he remembers the many occasions, on which he had fallen from happiness into sad darkness, ending up running away from the feeling of having done something forbidden.

 

_Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters_

 

This is different. As the arousal slowly fades from his body and his brain regains the capacity for rational thinking, there is only unspeakable horror in its wake.

How could he have done this? Harshly ingrained commands are hijacking him, ambushing his heart with a firm grip. He wants to fight tooth and claw against the dirty feeling washing over him, wants to reclaim the moments with Sam. But the freak-out is starting to make itself comfy in his head. Fuck!

 

_All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters_

 

And apparently, Sam can read thoughts now as well, not just Boris, because immediately his brother starts to hug him impossibly closer, holds him even tighter as he starts to struggle, holds him when he tries to kick Sam in the shins to get away, Sam holds him when he starts yelling through the gag in his mouth, holds him as he crumbles and hot tears shoot out of his undead vampire eyes.

Through the haze of this violent breakdown, he feels pathetic and useless and dangerous, but Sam holds him, holds him until he finally stops fighting against Sam and slumps into him.  

Fucking stupid! Wasting Sam’s energy like this. There are fingers at the back of his head and he can feel the tight grip of the leather strap over his mouth falling loose.

“No.” His voice is hoarse from the yelling and he whispers. “I can’t, Sammy. I don’t have it in me to do this to you.” - “I know, but … I want you to.”

His brother carefully holds him a little away, so he can see his face. Dean's eyes are on fire. Blurred he can see Sam looking at him in horror. "Deaann!”

“What’s wrong?" His voice sounds still treacherously rough with tears.

"Blood. You ... you are crying blood, Dean!"

With a feeling of complete ridiculousness, Dean asks: “Bullsh… Like in Bloody Mary?” – “Not exactly. I read in some lore, that …” – “Oh, come on. That is just a fucking cliché.” Sam brushes over Dean’s cheek, his fingers coming away dark red.

Harshly, Dean wipes at his eyes, probably just smearing everything, so that he now really looks like the monster that he is. He bites his lips, then freezes. He needs to be fucking careful to not …

A wall of warmth hits him and Sam is suddenly close again, way too close, slowly approaching his mouth. As if hypnotized, he leans towards his brother, then understands with an icy twitch in his heart. "No! Damn it, Sam! No!!!"

Caught and his face painted with guilt Sam is shrinkin back, then lowers his shoulders in resignation. "Please, Dean! Just … please!” His brother sounds like 120. He knows that look on people’s faces, has seen it far too often in his line of work. The exasperation, the last revolt against the irrevocable situation. Sam is dying.

“I am not afraid anymore, Dean. Actually never was. And you shouldn’t be either.”

Sam gets closer again, carefully slides a finger over Dean’s lips, which felt numb a second ago, but now tingle from the blood returning into them and Sam’s touch.

“Come here.” And with that Sam buries his face against Dean’s cheek, kisses the stubble, kisses the corner of his mouth, kisses him slow and soft on the lips as if he is afraid he might freak Dean out again. And yeah - he would put quite some money on that option.

Sam’s lips are cold and chapped, but as he carefully opens Dean’s with his tongue, there is warmth and softness and with a forlorn moan Dean buries himself in Sam.

It is not as heated as before, but still as desperate when Dean is learning the mouth of his brother with sincerity, learns the little groans that escape him, when Sam is biting into his lower lip and tucks.   

He hasn’t made out with someone so slowly in ages and he can’t imagine kissing anyone else after Sam.

 

_Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters_

 

After some time, Sam just rests his forehead against Dean’s, breathing in the other’s fellowship, Sam’s head lolls to the side and comes to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “Just a little tired, Dean!” Sam curls in on himself.

When his big-ass brother snuggles up closer on his chest, it is like a travel back in time ...

 

_*_

He jolts up. Maybe he has doozed off a little, too. Something is wrong.

“Sam? … Sammy???” He smacks his brother’s cheeks, carefully, but desperate. Sam is pale – a bluish white, which he has only ever once seen on Sam. In a little dark hut, lying on a decaying cot. His fingers fumble for the pulse. A fluttering little thing, but still there.

“Saaaam!” He shakes his brother so hard, he can feel his bones rattle until finally …

“De-eeee-eee-an!” Sam sounds like he is seven years old again and has just woken up in the middle of the night on the backseat of the Impala. Heavy-lidded, Sam tries to sit upright, but can’t find the energy to do so.

Dean takes Sammy’s face between his hands, sees how his eyes fade in and out of focus. It’s like Cold Oak all over again. "Can’t breath so well ..." He has no idea what Sam is talking about, but the look in Sam's eyes is so wounded. “I just feel so dizzy, Dean.”

Dizzy? He tests the air. Fuck! He hasn’t noticed, but the oxygen in here has been nearly drowned out of the air. This horror show fridge seems to be air proof and now … Probably, he had a big part in using up all the precious oxygen, even if he didn’t even needed the fucking air in the first place.

Shortly, an image of himself pushing air into Sam’s lungs like during a reanimation manoeuvre creeps through him. He feels his lips on Sam’s until he remembers that he is a vampire, not a magician, can't conjure up any oxygen.

 “Dean?” It’s a whisper. “I don't wanna die. Not now … now, that we both ..."

“It’s okay, Sammy. It’s going to be okay.” Fucking nothing is okay, but …

“Yeah. I’m … just a little …” The words are dripping out of Sam’s mouth in slow motion. “… tired.” His eyes roll back in his head, looking white like Lilith’s and his brother is unconscious again. 

Dean’s brain is changing gears immediately, trying to wrap his head around the unthinkable. Their only way out – together! – is for him to infect Sam with his blood, to make him a monster as well.

 

 _Trust I seek and I find in you_  
Every day for us something new  
  


Or … There is an alternative. If Sammy’s gonna leave this earth tonight, he’s gonna be right behind him. They will go out together, knocking on Heaven’s Door. Or more likely on the Gates of Hell.

Either, or: Sammy’s not gonna go alone.

It would be the second taboo, he is breaking within 24 hours and this one is worse. This is one is gripping his undead heart with ice cold fingers and wraps his heart in flames of shame.

“Take care of your brother, son!” It is as if John is right here with them in this horrible chamber.

A look onto Sam’s blueish white face is like a sledge hammer hit to his guts and Dean reigns in his inner chaos. They are here now and there is no crossroad, though it is still their biggest. It doesn’t matter anymore, what Dad wanted, what the plan was for them all along. There is only one option now: they both are gonna go Dark Side.

Though … Elenore and her pack were able to do it, so maybe he is able as well. And Sam has kind of been a vegetarian all along, even as a human. So, maybe … Maybe!

His peptalk is not really working. But they are running out of time. He can feel how shallow Sam’s breathing has become, can feel the lack of oxygen in veins of his brother, as if they are screaming, hear it in the slowing heart beat. It is now or a fucking long never forever.

With a deep sigh, Dean bites into his own wrist, opens it up, until dark, dark blood is pooling out.

The harbinger of another wave of panic is unfolding its black wings and quickly Dean presses his wrist to Sam’s mouth. “Drink, Sammy, drink.” His voice is way to rough to sound soothing.

One of Sam’s eyes slowly opens, but as he registers, what Dean is about to do, there is a little jolt of energy in the lifeless form of his brother and he feebly tries to whisk away Dean’s arm. “No, Dean. You didn’t wanted to, so …”

“It’s okay, Sam.” Why has his voice have to waver, betraying his reassurances? His throat is full of bitten back pain, the unshed tears clogging up his vocal cords.

Sam fixes his tired eyes on him as he covers his lips over the gashing wound. The sensation of Sam sucking on his blood is forbidden. It is intimate in a way, that even fucking with his own brother didn’t master.

_I never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way_

 

Dean’s body flushes a faint memory taste into his mouth. Earthy and rusty and so satisfying after the first weirdness fades away. And powerful. Hopefully, he stares down on Sam’s still pale face.

“I … I don’t feel different. Shouldn’t something happen …?” – “Maybe wait some more. There should be this penetrative force, that enters your veins – it’s like shooting up some drug.”

“Drug?” Sam sounds so weak, but his eyes go wide. “Dean, did you ever do … drugs?” – “Seriously? How does this matter right now?” Sam’s eyes open even wider. “Fuck, Dean!” – “It’s a long time ago, okay? Was just some Morphine. Dad didn’t had anything else and we were in the middle of nowhere.”

“Where was I?” – “At Bobby’s.” Sam’s eyes fall shut again, his body going limp and Dean’s heart misses a beat, while is soul howls “This is it.” Then Sam opens his eyes again.

 

 _Open mind for a different view_  
And nothing else matters  
  


“It’s not working, Dean. Some lore says … that you have to drink human blood before you can actually infect ...” And even though Sam is dying, he is still the smart one.

Without thinking, Dean opens one of the vitrines and takes out a blood bag, which is harshly ripped out of his hands a moment later.

“No, Dean. I want it to be me.” - “Sam, we are in fucking Blood Paradise! Why would I …” One look into Sam’s eyes, he understands why.

 

_So close no matter how far_  
_Couldn't be much more from the heart_  
_Forever trusting who we are_  
_And nothing else matters_

 

Dean is horrified how quickly he morphs from hunter to monster. With a deep guttural growl he grabs Sam’s head and tilts it to the side, exposing the muscular strand of his neck. He licks from Sam’s mouth to his throat, sucks so hard the blood is blooming red under the surface of the smooth skin.

Pure animal instinct takes over and he presses Sam against the wall. His fangs break through the soft layers of skin, hot thick liquid is flooding his throat. The first taste is strange, bordering on weird and Dean is about to spit it out, when it all comes tumbling down, the familiarity, the taste of Sam explodes in like fireworks. Glowing red sparks shooting through his veins, into his head, his heart.

Before, he had reckoned, that finally feeding would set free a surge of pure power in him, but actually it drowns him. He is overwhelmingly submerged in his brother’s blood, Sam all around him - in him. It is wild, but also pacifying.

A sharp, harsh command: “Take care of your brother!” It is like John is hitting him with his voice and it is just “Yes, Sir!”. Even through the bloodlust this drilled part of Dean is quickly gaining the upper hand over, the hunger, the animal he has become.

He forcefully extracts himself, instinctively licking over the gushing wound in Sam’s throat, which closes instantly.  

Panting, he looks at Sam, whose pupils are blown wide and who seems to be in some kind of shock. He carefully lets his hand glide over the spot, which was bitten raw a moment ago. Sam is so … human! So full of life. So vulnerable. His brother can not stay in this fragile, precarious state.

“Sam?” Slowly, his brother blinks back to life. He should look worse, after Dean has rid him of a couple liters of blood, but his eyes are radiating and on a long exhale he just moans out “Fuck!” – “Are you okay?” Dean’s decades old worry is back immediately.

“I didn’t know, that …” He still seems to be far away, maybe he is still in Dean’s blood.

And Dean can still feel it too, can feel Sam in him. His blood flows faster now, hotter. Something in him laughs - mockingly with silver wire curls. Fuck!!! Probably this was Boris' plan from the beginning. And probably not even all of it ... Then reality returns a thousand times over.

Dean looks at Sam, but he doesn't just see him, he can perceive every molecule of his brother, smell it, touch it with his senses and it's breathtaking and overwhelming.

Sam shines, warm and familiar. He perceives so much more than just his giant nerd brother. He can see Sam's whole story, the phased loneliness of his childhood, the reluctance to become a hunter and the desire to do good, to be good, the temptations his brother succumbed to and his everlasting remorse.

The openness is hard to bear, even though nothing is new, but the vulnerability to see everything, to lie yourself open like a book for the other to read… Dean doesn't know if he can stand it when Sam can see him the same way.

Then Sam slowly sinks to the ground and the fear burns up in the face of Sam's death.

"Here!” It must work now! Dean rips open his wrist impetuously and presses it onto Sam's limp mouth. With hot fascination he watches Sam latch onto the dark liquid, sees the short flash of disgust, that changes in a split second into pure want. And Sam looks dangerous and beautiful, his pale cheeks catching up in color with his bloody lips, flushing with every thirsty swallow …

It is different from the first try - more intense. This time he senses Sam, his heartbeat adjusting to his and it's like Sam is absorbing a part of him.

 

And finally, after decades of war, Dean feels like coming home.

  


_Never cared for what they say_  
_Never cared for games they play_  
_Never cared for what they do_  
_Never cared for what they know_  
_And I know_  
  
_So close no matter how far_  
_Couldn't be much more from the heart_

_Forever trusting who we are_

_No nothing else matters_

 

 

 

 

_°_


	13. Dead I am the one, exterminating son!

°

 

 

 

Song: Rob Zombie - Dragula

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1Z1Zrot-go>

Lyrics: <https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/robzombie/dragula.html>

 

**Dead I am the one, exterminating son!**

 

 

 

 

_Superstition, fear and jealousy_

 

There is a sharp pull in his head, like he is a dog and someone janked his chain. A thight grip on his mind is forcing him down on his knees, choking him through thoughts with a manic laugh and lethal grin.

“How do you like this, Dean?” The voice of his master is echoing in him as if his head is a cathedral. “Powerful, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!” Dean tries to scream back in his head and maybe he is successfull, because the laughter is stopping. But it also might have been the warm hand on his back.

“Dean?” A big hand massages the muscles under the ratty white undershirt with soothing, but strong strokes. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, waiting for the next onslaught, Dean gets to his knees and leans heavy onto Sam’s shoulder. “Boris!”

And then a crippling thought occurs to him. “Can you … Sam, can you hear me? I mean, my thoughts.”

His brother shrugs, the look on his face way too innocent, and Dean knows exactly what that means. Oh, fuck!

 

_Weak and want you need, nowhere as you bleed_

 

“Just a little.” A blinding smile follows that statement and Sam hasn’t looked so young and energetic in a long time. There is still blood around his mouth, but it is makes him look even more enthralling to Dean.

Boris, his master, is as charming as a lurking landmine in him. But Sam’s presence is like his own personal sun, around which he spins in circles. And with this thought Sam’s smile just gets impossibly wider, full dimple mode and eyes like beacons.  Dean really needs to get used to this new bond.

“Quite practical, don’t you think, Dean!” Another blitz of foreign thoughts in his mind, but this time … And – oh, fuck! If this is what Sam wants to do to him, he explicitely needs to make sure, they both get out of this alive.

 

 _Do it baby, do it baby_  
Do it baby, do it baby  
Burn like an animal

  
  
A second later, his hunter instincts enthreadened with the vampires’ nest start to ring alarm bells all over.

“They are coming, Sam. Ready to fight Boris and his Bloodsuckers?” Dean throws a bag of blood towards Sam who blindly catches it out of the air. “I hope, it isn’t too soon.” Dean’s brow is furrowed.

“I was born ready.” Sam rips open the plastic and wolfs down the blood with long swallows stretching his throat.  

 

 _I am the life, dig into the skin_  
Knuckle crack the bone, 21 to win  


Sam gasps and Dean winces in sympathy. The power flash is so strong, it is actually painful, if you are not yet used to it. But – wow! Somehow these fangs look even better on Sam than on him. His brother turns and grins at him, blood still dripping from his mouth and long teeth and everything that has ever appalled him about a view like that blows up in smoke.

There is a loud metallic clang on the door and then with it opening five vampires are gushing in all Gung ho!, when the first one is already decapitated by the huge shard in Sam’s hand from the cabinet. Dean nearly feels pity for the vamps. How could they win against two men and a life of fighting under their belts, whose instincts and impulses were trained into deadly weapons? Not to forget the additional vampire strength.

Sam and he are completely in sync, more than they have ever been, fighting back to back. It is as if Dean can see through Sam’s eyes, can feel his moves like his own and this is going to be interesting, when they are finally out of this fucking cooling chamber and he has Sam all to himself.

One vampire lunges at him and lost in thought of Sam’s naked body under him, Dean nearly gets killed.

“Damn it, Dean! Get your head in the game.” And he would like to give a wise crack back, but there is still a vampire at his throat. He hears Sam cursing harshly, then the vamp’s head explodes in a cloud of blood. “Thanks, brother!”

 

 _Dig through the ditches_  
And burn through the witches  
And slam in the back of my Dragula

 

Three decapitations later, they are out of the chamber, finally, sneaking up the staircase. There is a back-up of four more vamps, unfortunately Dean recognizes the female vampire as the one for whom they came in the first place, whose disappearance had started the whole case, but she has a machete in her hands and it doesn’t really matter anymore anyhow.

Sam still has the head of a vampire in his hand, the captured machete in the other, while they carefully roam through the abandoned building. “I think, those were all. I can only feel … Boris now.” Dean whispers, even though he knows it is completely useless. “This way!”

Boris is waiting for them in the big hall, sitting alone on a chair like a throne and Dean has to give it to him: His master is no coward.

“It’s really sad, that it had to come to this.” Boris’ nonchalant voice is still doing things to him, so Dean gestures to Sam to go ahead. But he is also curious. “So, if everything would have gone according to your plan, then … What?”

Boris is holding out one hand and counts: “First, I would be awfully rich. Do you even know, how high the quotes are in our world for getting your hands on the infamous Winchesters? And I even had both of you …” The eyes of the vampire turn dreamy.

“Second, you, Dean, would have become my Commander of War or personal mercenary.” Dean just scoffs “You wish.”, but unfortunately he can see it as well.

It might have come true. If he wasn’t bound so strongly to Sam – always has been – he might have broken. Wouldn’t even have been the first time … He swallows around “Alastair” and the big hand on his shoulder is immediately back and he is okay again.

“But probably, I wouldn’t have had you for long anyway. There are too many … people, which you call monsters, out there looking for you.” His eyes are back on Dean. “Wanting you.”

Sam raises the machete, steps forward with a snarl and his brother looks really fucking scary right now.

“Dean? I want you to do it!” Boris looks at him with a sad smile. “It could have been all so beautiful.”, he sighs.

Dean takes the machete from Sam and winks at his master. “I’ll make it quick.”

 

 _Dead I am the rat, feast upon the cat_  
Tender is the fur, dying as you purr  
  


_*_

 

The Impala still stands exactly where Dean has left her a lifetime ago. "Hey, baby!" He pats the roof, swipes lovingly along her sleek black curves.

Dean unlocks the driver's door, pauses for a moment. "I really didn't think I was going to live to see that again." He drops onto the seat, strokes the steering wheel and breathes in deeply the familiar scent of leather and motor oil and lingering junk food. If he could still eat a Bacon Hamburger. Couldn’t hurt to try, right?

The door next to him clicks shut and Dean turns to his brother. "Okay, so … Where next, Sammy?" – “Three weeks ago I heard about a vampire nest in Detroit. What do you think, Dean?" – “Sounds good.”

There is a moment of silence, not just in the car, but in also in this humming new tension between them. Dean reaches out with all of his heightened senses, but Sam just puts one hand on Dean's thigh and squeezes it.

“We are good, right, Dean?”  - “Shouldn’t you be able to … just feel it.” – “No. I mean, yes, I do. I just …” – “…wanted to hear it.” Dean finishes his sentence. “We are better than good, Sammy.”

Sam grumbles something indecipherable, then pulls Dean’s whole body just up and over onto his lap. Before Dean can even utter the first word of protest, his brother’s lips are on his and a moment later they are a bundle of clothes half torn off and sweaty skin and choked moans.

Even if it all comes naturally to them, it still takes some getting used to, not just because it's his brother, but because they don't quite know what's working with this new set of teeth yet, which are shooting out at the most inopportune moments, making them feel like horny teenagers.  

“Sorry about the seat.” Sam mumbles later. "That’s okay, Darling." Dean smirks at his brother with shiny eyes. “You are aware, Sweetheart, that technically I am your master?”

“I wanna see you try.” Sam shoves him back against the dashboard, hovering one centimeter over his mouth, dragging it out and Dean loves every moment of it.

Then, with one easy movement, Sam puts Dean back on the driver's seat. "Well, master, I am hungry. Let's go hunt some rats and then we're off to Detroit!"

Dean sits there for a moment, frozen, then his signature shit-eating-grin creeps over his face and he turns the key in the ignition. “Okay, Bitch.” – “Jerk.”

When the engine roars to life and Led Zeppelin belts through the car, his expression changes to something warm and tender. He just loves the growling and purring of baby's engine. One last look back, a short wave at the abandonded bank building and he elegantly swerves the Impala into the city traffic at night.

 

 

 _Dead I am the dog, hound of hell you cry_  
Devil on your back, I can never die  
  


 

 

THE END.

 

Or a new beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

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